Dragon Age: The Ties that Bind
by BlackLeatherRain
Summary: Anlessa Cousland has lost everything she's known and has been thrust into a mission to save her homeland from annihilation.  This is intended as a full retelling of the Dragon Age: Origins storyline from the Cousland daughter's origin.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The nightmares had been getting worse, Alistair could tell. The young man huddled near the fire, shielding himself against the approaching colds of winter as he watched his slumbering dark-skinned companion. He had been traveling with Duncan for the majority of the past five months, watching his every move and diplomatic gesture as the elder Grey Warden led him from city to city in Ferelden with the goal of recruiting additional Wardens to resist the coming Blight. The cool-mannered gentleman that he followed during the day was changed once he succumbed to sleep; he became restless, angry, and – most of all – fearful.

Alistair had learned from Duncan that the task set before them was a difficult one. Ferelden's previous King, Maric Theirin, had been the first to allow the fabled Order to establish itself back in the country that it had tried to overthrow centuries before. It had been over a decade since Duncan had been established to watch over Ferelden and aid in the establishment of the Order once again, and growth was slow and difficult. At this time, the whole of Ferelden saw no more than three-dozen Wardens within their ranks, including Alistair himself. Compared to the hundreds that resided in neighboring nations, it was not only an embarrassment, but also a danger. Duncan and those Wardens who had been around far longer than Alistair were positive that a Blight was on the horizon, and that they did not have the manpower to force it back underground. Duncan was doing all he could – recruiting heavily across the country for skilled warriors or, like Alistair, warriors with promise. In the end, however, Duncan was looking for men and women who could survive – not just in encounters with darkspawn, but also the ritual that was required to establish a person as a Grey Warden. Unfortunately, recruitment had been slim, and of every three potential candidates, they'd be lucky if two of them could make it through the ritual itself.

It had been a rough few months, and Alistair had seen his share of potential allies fall. Still, he was overjoyed and honored to be a part of the legendary Order where he felt he had a place and purpose, and where his fellow Wardens accepted him openly as a brother in arms. This level of unquestioning acceptance was a new experience for Alistair, and he was enjoying every moment of it. Looking back to Duncan's restless form, he sighed. In a few short months, Duncan had allowed himself to be adopted by the young man as the father he'd never known, and the old Warden had accepted the role willingly; ready to pass on what wisdom he could in their time together. Now that they were so near where the darkspawn were gathering above ground, Alistair knew that he'd have to be left behind. They'd picked up two potential initiates in the past few weeks of travels – Ser Jory of Redcliffe and a young rogue from the capitol named Daveth – and Duncan had made it perfectly clear that when they were dropped off at Ostagar, Alistair would be expected to stay with them while Duncan used what remaining time he had before the battle finding as many additional recruits as he could. Alistair had protested briefly and then acquiesced, as there were many preparations necessary to fortify Ostagar, and every ready hand was necessary in order to fully organize against the coming horde. As it had been described to him, the Blight must be stopped where it began, or they risked Ferelden being entirely overrun with darkspawn. If it got that far, it would take an alliance of nations to stop the Blight – if it could be stopped at all.

Duncan jumped in his sleep, hand raised protectively before his face, and his eyes startled open, wide with fear. Sitting up, he looked around to see Alistair watching him quietly, and the two new recruits sound asleep on their bedrolls. Duncan sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"Are you okay, Duncan?"

Duncan looked at the blonde youth who had been worriedly watching him, and shook his head. He could feel the Calling itching at the edges of his mind when he slept, and feared that he would not see the Blight ended before he was forced to run headlong into the nearest horde; lest he wait and join them, instead. "I find myself wondering why I even bother lying down any more, Alistair. Indeed, with everything that must be accomplished, it would be preferable to forgo sleep and dreams altogether… doubly so as the dreams get stronger."

Alistair frowned and watched the coals glow and fade in the fire. He knew well enough from the other Wardens' tales that the worsening dreams heralded the Warden's descent to the Deep Roads, where he would be honored one last time before being sealed in darkspawn-infested trenches with one mission – take out as many of the fiends as you can before you are overrun and killed by the very beings you were sent to destroy.

Seeing the look of sorrow in Alistair's eyes as he pretended to examine the fire, Duncan smiled and rose to give Alistair a firm clap on the shoulder. "Take heart, Alistair. I'm not in the Deep Roads yet. There's still much work left for me to do."

Alistair smiled and took Duncan's offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Shall I wake the recruits so we can get to Ostagar by first light?"

Duncan looked up to the stars, guessing that they had a couple of hours until daybreak. "Excellent idea. The earlier we arrive, the sooner I can head out."

Alistair used his foot to nudge the slumbering candidates awake, and then kicked the campfire out, covering the coals with wet moss from the surrounding wilds swamp. "Where will you be going next, Duncan?"

Duncan pondered this question briefly, and responded, "Highever, I believe. I've heard promising things from that region."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

In a centuries-old castle that was built long before the establishment of the country of Ferelden itself, nestled in the green hills of Highever, a raven-haired youth clad in leather and chain was quickly packing a rucksack with supplies as she rushed to join the men who were gathering outside and preparing to leave for battle. King Cailan, the only son of the country's legendary King Maric and grandson of the Rebel Queen, had sent forth the call to all of the lands of Ferelden to send out their armies and join in the fight against the darkspawn at Ostagar. Highever's army was gathering immediately in response. Her brother and father were leading the forced march to the ruins in the wilds this evening, and Anlessa had every intention of joining them.

A whine and scratching at the door broke Anlessa's concentration as she determined the best items to bring to her first time on a true battlefield. She frowned and scurried to her bedroom door, cracking it open to see her faithful Mabari hound waiting outside. Opening the door further, she whispered hoarsely, "Come on, then. Hurry in before Mother hears."

"I believe it's far too late for that, dear girl." Anlessa's mother stepped out from beside her daughter's bedroom door, arms crossed and thin lips set firmly in evidence of annoyance that she'd seen so many times in the past. The Teyrna looked at her daughter in burning disapproval, the severity of her glare heightened by the propriety of her attire, and the perfection of her intricately woven hair. "You cannot truly believe I would allow my husband and _both_ of my beloved children to run off into the wilds together?"

Anlessa scowled. This was the reaction that she'd expected from her mother, and precisely the reason she wanted to be out and mingling amongst the Highever army before anyone was the wiser. Proudly, she retorted with every bit of confidence she could muster. "It is my duty to join the army, Mother. I'm a good fighter, and I can be there to help protect Dad and Fergus. I have to go with them."

Her mother shook her head, her countenance softening as she smiled in appreciation at the powerful young woman before her. Eleanor Cousland was no stranger to the battlefield, and many years back had met her husband, Bryce, in camp between battles with the Orlesian army. She knew the value of a woman's unique strength and grace to a nation's army, and had instilled a sense of power and pride in her own daughter. Still, she would not risk losing the majority of her family in one fell swoop if the worst happened at Ostagar. "Anlessa, my sweet child, your father has a request for you, but I would prefer you hear it from his own lips. You will be needed here while your father and brother fight the darkspawn alongside the King, but I promise you this – you will find your own glory in battle in the future. Let your brother and father have this time alone together."

The young warrior sighed. Not yet at twenty winters passed, she was still her mother's daughter and loathed disappointing the matron of the Cousland clan. Pouting, she countered, "I could be of use to the King now, too, mother."

Teyrna Cousland smiled and embraced her young daughter, "Of this, I have no doubt. However, your duty is here." Looking skeptically at Anlessa, she added, "And please, my dear... dress appropriately when you meet with your father. He has some very important visitors today, and I would appreciate it if you dressed as the Teyrn's daughter when we sup together, rather than his bodyguard."

Anlessa's nose wrinkled briefly in protest. "As you wish, mother. I will be by presently."

Eleanor kissed her youngest child gently upon the forehead, replying, "That's a girl. Now, go have fun with our guests."

Closing the door after her mother, Anlessa sighed and opened her wardrobe, noting the lush noble gowns made of Orlesian silks and those made of Ferelden wools hanging gracefully next to bulky suits of armor in chain and leather. With a sigh, she reached for one of the heavy winter gowns and prepared to meet the family's guests.

* * *

The Cousland estate's great hall served as the family's chosen gathering place for formal meals and guest reception. Today, Anlessa learned that her mother was hosting Lady Landra and her son, as her father hosted Arl Howe and a mystery guest for whom she was to be on her best behavior.

"Ah, there you are, Pup!" Bryce Cousland, patron of the small but powerful Cousland clan, gestured at his daughter while addressing the grey-haired Lord who stood nearby. "Arl Howe, you remember my daughter, Anlessa?"

"Indeed, and she has obviously grown into a fine young woman, Bryce. A pleasure to see you again, my dear." The older Arl took her hand in greeting, raising it to his lips. His blue eyes twinkled with merriment underneath his sparse grey mane. "My son has been asking after you, child. Perhaps I'll bring him with me the next time I visit."

Anlessa bowed her head in greeting, smiling genuinely at the chance to see her father's old friend and compatriot again. "Would that be Thomas?" She smiled coyly at Howe, batting her dark lashes. "I'd welcome his visit, but… to what end?"

The elder Cousland smirked, crossing his arms and examining his daughter as Arl Howe laughed heartily. "'To what end?' she says! So glib, too. She's just like her mother, Bryce."

"You see what I have to contend with, here. There's no telling this girl anything, and when she and her mother combine forces…"

"No doubt because you trained her as a warrior." Arl Howe raised his chin slightly, still smiling but his disapproval showing nevertheless. "How… unique."

Bryce had known Arl Howe long enough to know the man preferred the ranks of his armies filled with men, and only men. The Couslands, on the other hand, had a strong history of allowing the best of Highever's warriors to serve in the army and guard, regardless of gender, or rank. Only recently, Bryce had expanded the recruitment for warriors even to Highever's elven alienage, which Howe would no doubt find even more distasteful. Looking at his daughter, however, Bryce could only see his own beloved Eleanor as she was decades before – one of but a handful of noble women he'd encountered who was willing to pick up a sword to defend her country, and he loved her for it. He could only hope that Anlessa's betrothed, whoever it may be, would also honor her as a warrior, and an equal.

"Pup," Bryce said, turning to his daughter, "I have a very important task for you while Fergus and I are away. I am leaving you in charge of the castle."

Anlessa blinked in surprise. The castle? That meant he was leaving her in charge of all of Highever. "Father, are you certain?"

He smiled reassuringly, "I need someone to watch over the land while we're gone. I'm leaving a small contingent here to keep order and protect the castle, but it needs to be led by a firm hand. If the worst happens while Fergus and I are away, it is up to you to continue the Cousland name."

Anlessa felt her heart swell with pride at being given the keys to the city, but her worry still remained. "I've never done this before, Father. Shouldn't Mother be the one in charge?"

Bryce shook his head firmly. "You are of age, my dear. The time will come when you will be expected to lead, and this is the perfect opportunity to show us what you're made of. Your mother and Lady Landra will be leaving in the next few days, and that will leave you with Oriana and Oren to keep you company, and I guarantee plenty of issues to keep you busy while we're gone." Seeing the doubt in her eyes, he clasped her shoulders warmly, saying, "I have complete faith in you, Pup. You will make me proud. Now, before you head off to say farewell to your brother, there is a guest I'd like you to meet." Turning toward the guard manning the North entrance to the Hall, he said, "Could you please show Duncan in?"

Anlessa noticed that the guards stood a little straighter as the bronzed warrior entered the room. Her father's guest wore finely made light armor, his breastplate adorned with the picture of a rearing griffon, enameled in a beautiful royal blue. Most notably to Anlessa, however, was the fact that his beautiful armor was covered in the markings, nicks and dents that proclaimed it had seen its share of battle, and so had its owner. His face was weathered but handsome, neatly bearded in chestnut brown, and his long hair tied at the base of his neck and just beginning to show the silvering signs of age. By his countenance alone, Anlessa could see the man had a grace of movement that hinted to his exceptional skill, and a confidence of bearing that showed he feared nothing. Seeing Arl Howe and the Teyrn's daughter, he smoothly bowed, one arm cocked behind him. Both Anlessa and Howe bowed in return as Bryce introduced the man, "Arl Howe, Anlessa, may I present Duncan of the Order of the Grey Wardens. Duncan, this is the Arl of Amaranthine, and my darling daughter."

Anlessa's ears pricked at the introduction and she looked at her father, then Duncan with excitement. Arl Howe, obviously uncomfortable, remarked, "Such an honored guest, Bryce. Visitors like this require a certain amount of preparation… I am at a disadvantage."

Smiling broadly, Anlessa addressed Duncan, her head inclining in respect. "It is an honor to host you here in Highever, Grey Warden. Pray, what brings you to Highever? Will you be following our forces into Ostagar?"

Duncan's head lowered in acknowledgement. "I hope to follow them shortly, my Lady. I am here, however, to seek new recruits to join our ranks and help to end the Blight."

Teyrn Cousland smiled proudly, adding, "I've asked him to come to see Ser Gilmore, Pup."

Anlessa smiled. "Ser Gilmore must not know that the Warden is here for him, then. If he knew, he'd be bouncing off of the walls."

Duncan cleared his throat respectfully, and addressed the Teyrn, "If I may be so bold, my Lord, I would also say that I've heard your own daughter would make a fine candidate for recruitment."

Anlessa's eyes widened in hope even as Bryce's countenanced visibly darkened and he stepped forward, reflexively stepping between his youngest child and the leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. "True as that may be, Duncan, I am not so quick to send my only two children off to Ostagar simultaneously, leaving them in Fate's clutches. Unless," he added, eyes narrowing slightly, "you intend to invoke the right of Conscription."

Duncan waved his hand dismissively as he shook his head. "I will do no such thing, my Lord. I was only making an observation. I have no interest in angering any Lord of this land, much less during such a tumultuous time."

Bryce relaxed, smiling genuinely. "I am glad to hear it, Warden." Turning back to Anlessa, he said, "Now, Pup, I need you to take a message to Fergus for me. He is to take the Highever forces and head to Ostagar this evening. Unfortunately, the Amaranthine forces have been held up and will not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. The King will need all of the forces he can get as soon as possible."

"This is entirely my fault, I'm afraid," added Arl Howe, "If I had reinforced the levees at our border, my troops may have been able to leave before the rains. I believe my faith in your father's capabilities allowed me some complacency." With a laugh, he added, "I suppose that makes this my fault as much as his. I must admit, it will be good riding with your father again."

Anlessa smiled, "Then I would simply like to wish you well, Arl Howe, in your journey."

Howe blinked in surprise, eyebrows arched high. Recovering with a smile, he responded, "Thank you, dear girl, but that is quite unnecessary. I cannot possibly foresee anything going awry."

Bryce agreed with a nod, "Nor I, old friend. Anlessa, while we're gone I ask that you take care of Duncan's needs while he evaluates our halls for recruits. Now, go see to your brother as I have some business to discuss with Duncan and Arl Howe."

Anlessa curtsied gracefully in acknowledgement, and then went to her father to exchange a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the grand chamber. As she quietly closed the large oaken doors behind her, she noticed Ser Gilmore standing nearby, desperately trying to look casual. She grinned, sauntering over to him and whispering hoarsely, "You were listening in, weren't you?"

Gilmore's pale skin turned red as his hair as he attempted to deny the truth. "No, my Ladyship. I was simply… on the lookout."

"Hmm… is that right? Looking for darkspawn, perhaps, to sneak out of the Great Hall?"

Gilmore bit his lip nervously, his bright eyes betraying his excitement and his question. "Is it true, my Ladyship? Your father's guest? He's here for me?"

Anlessa grinned broadly, and gently took the knight's elbow in her hand, guiding him away from the Great Hall so they might have some privacy. She nodded, adding, "He's amazing. I don't know what kind of battles he's seen in the past, but he looks like he could take down Father's entire army single-handed. And yes, Father volunteered you for consideration."

Gilmore breathed in sharply, hope rising in his breast. "Maker bless him! The Grey Wardens! Can you imagine? Me, a Grey Warden! It would be everything I'd ever dreamed of!" Forcing himself to calm down, he added, "Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Pardon my outburst."

The young woman laughed, "Oh, you're quite welcome to an outburst for this occasion, Gilmore. I would be just as excited, if Father would allow me to be recruited." Pouting, she added, "Of course, that will _never_ happen, no matter how much I'd like to join you. Imagine, the two of us fighting together under the Griffon's banner, battling darkspawn instead of scouring the countryside for bandits and wolves."

She looked up at the Knight, who was wistfully gazing into the bright blue sky, and gave him a playful punch on the arm. "Just don't forget me once you've won fame and glory, Gilmore. I expect you to return to Highever with a multitude of exciting stories to tell."

Hearing the disappointment masked by her well-wishings, Gilmore smiled and replied, "Who knows? Perhaps your Father will relent some day and send you off for recruitment, as well."

"I can hope, certainly, but pardon if I refuse to hold my breath."

Gilmore chuckled, "Fair enough. Now, if you don't mind, I need to head out to the range and… well, I want to be in my best form when I'm finally called to meet him."

"No worries. Maker's Luck to you, my friend."

"And to you, my Ladyship."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

"Has my little sister come to see me off, then?"

Oriana was busy tightening and securing Fergus' hauberk as Oren ran about the room, a colorful toy sword in his hand. Anlessa smiled at her brother's family and nodded, "I can't have you running off to all of this excitement without at least saying goodbye, Fergus, especially since Mother refuses to allow me to join you."

"Not for lack of you trying to convince her, I'm certain." Fergus winced and turned back to his wife, "Oriana, love… it doesn't need to be that tight. It's a hauberk, not a girdle."

Oriana scowled at him and pulled the straps tighter, eliciting a breathless "Oof!" from her husband. "Nor is it a nightdress, dear man. I won't have some filthy darkspawn taking advantage of your refusal to wear your armor properly."

Anlessa laughed at her brother's defiant face as he clamped his mouth shut and stared at the ceiling. She knew him well enough to know that as soon as they were out of sight of the castle, he'd loosen the armor to his comfort. Oren took the opportunity to poke at his father's side menacingly with his paper weapon, crying, "Fear my sword, darkspawn! Fall before my blade!"

"C'mere, you." The young girl reached down to pick up her small nephew and hoisted him on her shoulders, out of the way of his parents. She carried him around the small room, bouncing him about and following his eagerly pointed directions. Casting a glance at her brother, she asked, "Did Father tell you his plans for me while the two of you are gone?"

Fergus smirked, "Oh, I can only imagine. He's not having you look after the castle, is he?"

Anlessa nodded solemnly as Fergus laughed in delight, "I remember the first time he had me head the castle, while he and Mother visited the Landsmeet in Denerim. It was easily the most unbelievably dull time I've ever spent here. My most pressing need was the lack of fresh cream in the kitchen, and having Nan chew my ear off for three hours about how incompetent our servants are. I do not envy you in the least for taking over while we're gone."

Oren looked down at her, no longer batting at imaginary dragons on the ceiling, and asked, "Will you be taking care of us, Auntie? Will you teach me how to use a real sword?"

The girl grinned, "Yes, I will, little man – on both counts. By the time your father returns, you'll be the greatest swordsman in Thedas!"

Oriana rolled her eyes and shook her head as Oren cheered and continued thrashing his weapon at invisible foes. Anlessa turned her attention back to her brother. "Father wanted me to tell you that he's not leaving with you tonight. You'll need to lead our forces to Ostagar on your own, and he and Howe will follow up later."

Fergus scowled. "It's true, then. Howe's men are still delayed. Maker's Blood! It's as if they're walking backwards."

Anlessa nodded, "They hope to follow you tomorrow, together. Father will ride out with Renden Howe once his forces arrive. The Arl said that some flooding in Amaranthine was causing issues."

Oriana stepped back to admire her handiwork as Fergus began picking up his chosen weaponry. Fergus snorted in disbelief. "That's nonsense. There's no good reason for them to have been delayed this long, not with the King's call for immediate assistance. Amaranthine isn't _that_ far away from here." Fergus caught Oriana around the waist and pulled her close for a deep kiss. "Still, I suppose this is my cue to leave. There's no point in keeping the King waiting any longer, dear woman."

Oriana's eyes glistened with the realization, and she nodded sadly. "Dry your eyes, my love," he chided her, "and wish me well. I'll be back before you know it."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave?"

Anlessa and Fergus looked to the door to see their mother and father enter. Eleanor walked to her eldest child and put her arms around Oriana and Fergus warmly, pulling her boy to her and kissing him warmly on the cheek. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

Oriana closed her eyes in reverence, and touched her husband's arm tenderly. "The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to our arms."

Fergus caught Anlessa's eye with a smirk and continued the prayer, "…and bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it." Seeing Oriana's shocked then annoyed glare, he added, "Err… for the men, of course."

Anlessa felt a tap on her head and looked up at her nephew. "Auntie, what's a winch? Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

Fergus cleared his throat. "_Wench_, Oren. She's the woman that pours the ale in a tavern."

"Or a woman who drink a lot of that ale," Bryce added under his breath.

"Bryce!" Eleanor exclaimed in exasperation, "Maker's breath, it's like living with a pair of small boys. Thankfully, I have a daughter."

Fergus caught his mother in a bear hug and lifted her off of her feet with a laugh. "I'll miss you, Mother dear!" Setting her down gently, he looked over to Anlessa with a glowing smile. "You'll take care of her, won't you?"

Anlessa raised her hands defensively. "Don't look at me. Mother can handle herself – she always has."

Eleanor simply raised an eyebrow to her son and smiled with pride as Bryce chuckled and said, "Enough, enough. We will not let Fergus tarry here any longer. You have a long way to go, dear boy. I look forward to joining you once the Amaranthine contingent arrives."

"Ah, I suppose you're right, Father. I'll join the troops presently." Fergus smiled to his parents, and his younger sister. "Try not to be too jealous, little sister."

She smirked in response, wrinkling her nose as she gently mocked him. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be just fine, here in this _warm castle_ under my cozy blankets, dear brother."

"Hrm. Good point. I can't imagine it will be long before I was wishing I was out of that weather and back here, yes?"

Anlessa chuckled and took Oren off of her shoulders before giving Fergus one last, strong hug. Turning to her father, she gestured towards the door. He responded with a raised eyebrow and followed her to the foyer of the family's wing of the castle as they left her mother to fuss over her eldest child.

"Yes, pup?"

The girl studied his face before saying, "Father, about this Grey Warden…"

Bryce sighed and looked back at his family in the other room. "I had expected this. Has he tried to recruit you?"

"No! He's been entirely respectful of your wishes… but would it be so bad if he did? You know I can take care of myself just as well as Gilmore can, Father, and I want to make something of myself."

Bryce frowned and crossed his arms in contemplation. After a moment, he looked back to meet his daughter's gaze. "If a Blight is truly upon us in the south, then Grey Wardens will certainly be needed. There is no higher calling. If it comes to that, we can talk about it when I get back. Until then, we need you here to watch over the Teyrn, and to assist with any of the Grey Warden's needs while he seeks recruits in our walls. I trust you will show him every courtesy during his stay. Duncan is a fine man, and a hero."

Anlessa nodded, "I understand, Father. I will do my best."

"Good. Now, let's see Fergus on his way, pup, before he heads out."

* * *

Dinner that evening was far less eventful than Anlessa would have preferred. Her mother and father had obviously conspired to ensure that she was at the opposite end of the table from Duncan, which made the casual prodding she'd had planned much more difficult to accomplish. Instead, she sat with Lady Landry and her son Dairren, along with Oriana and Oren. By the time the main course had been served, Anlessa had resigned herself to speaking with the Grey Warden much later, after her father and Arl Howe had finally joined the Amaranthine troops and headed to Ostagar. Instead, she entertained herself by chatting with Lady Landry, who had already imbibed a bit too much of Highever's wine, and flirting with Dairren to get to know the young man a little better. Lady Landry was more than happy to encourage the exchange, knowing that Anlessa was not betrothed and that a union between her family and the Couslands would do nothing but elevate the entire Landry family in the eyes of the country's nobility. In terms of military prowess, however, it was evident that Dairren was little more than a glorified Squire, and held no power or finesse behind his weapon. The girl surmised that he was likely not comfortable even wielding one.

Anlessa played the good host that eve, knowing what was expected of her and even giving Dairren and his mother some hope of meetings in the future. She had learned well from her parents that the process of building power locally meant building bridges between the Cousland family and the local Bannorns, rather than setting themselves as unapproachable nobility, incapable of interpersonal communications. The Cousland way of rule was simple in that no Teyrn or Teyrna of Highever would ever ask its subjects to do what they were personally unwilling to do, themselves. In times of harvest, the Couslands would send their strong-backed children to help with the fields. Their young men and women were known throughout the town as regulars to the shops and inns, and often within the armies, as well. The caste system that was favored by many of the Arls during the time of Orlesian rule was strictly rejected by both the nobility and the peasantry of Highever, and all took a great amount of pride in this.

It was also true that Anlessa had been pressured heavily by her mother as the years progressed about finding a betrothed and, Maker help her, giving the woman more grandchildren. At some point Anlessa knew that she'd need to make a choice for better or for worse, and there wasn't one prospect that had been presented to her that could properly bear a weapon and armor. If this meant that she'd be a protector of the land and married to some Lord's fortunate son, so be it. There were certainly worse fates for a young noblewoman to encounter in this world.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

That evening, Anlessa's dreams were filled with visions of heroic battles, and powerful warriors riding in on the back of snow-white griffons, storming vast hordes of monsters. She was among the warriors, holding the line against the darkspawn, her trusty hound at her side. Her sword was drenched in blood as she fought back the incursion, the Mabari barking constantly to worry the attackers away from his mistress. Anlessa grew restless in her dream, attempting to quiet her hound, its incessant barking serving as a distraction from her duty rather than a taunt for its prey.

Anlessa woke in her bedroom, the Mabari's resounding woofs still ringing in her ears. A quick and firm hiss from his mistress quieted the dog, who chose instead to plant himself between the bed and the bedroom door, hackles raised and teeth bared in a menacing, low growl.

Fear gripped at Anlessa's heart – something was terribly wrong. Mabari were highly intelligent creatures with the ability to understand more than their fair share of the common tongue, and her Mabari was trained as a war hound. At any time, he was ready to be converted from a faithful pup into bloodthirsty mauler, and he was telling her as clearly as he could that trouble was on her doorstep.

Quietly, Anlessa slipped out of her nightshift and into some leather and scale armor that her father had purchased for her just last season after her first successful lead of a raid on a local bandit camp. She and Ser Gilmore had ridden out to track down the bandits that had been plaguing villages on the East side of Highever, and had returned proudly to the castle with the bandits' heads dangling grotesquely from their saddles. Fergus took her to the local tavern that night to show her off to the locals, brag on her exploits, and to get her dead drunk in celebration. Her father had found great sport in the ordeal and rewarded her with a new set of armor, even as her mother took Fergus out back and rapped him about the ears, reminding him that she'd given him a _sister_, not a _brother_, and vomiting the local mead in public was not the kind of thing young ladies should be renown for.

Anlessa grimly slung a bow and quiver over her shoulder, and picked up her swords, doing her best not to be heard. Clucking softly with her tongue, she reassured her hound and crept up to the heavy door to her room. A muffled, high-pitched scream was barely audible on the other side. The youngest of the Cousland warriors responded by throwing open her door and releasing a long, whooping war cry. In response, four armed men in the foyer turned to her in surprise, suddenly forgetting what it was that they were doing.

Her Mabari knew the drill – released from his command to stay silent, he ran headlong past his mistress and jumped directly into the chest of the nearest soldier, powerful jaws snapping and tearing at whatever he could reach. The man screamed bloody murder, beating at the powerful beast ineffectively, and screaming to his comrades for help.

Two of the soldiers were standing in front of her parent's bedroom door, and marks on the old oak suggested they had been trying to force their way into the room, unsuccessfully. Both of these men drew bows from off of their shoulder and aimed in her direction as the remaining soldier used a heavy mace to attempt to beat the Mabari from off of first man's throat. Anlessa ran for the archers, varying her speed and direction as best as she could in close quarters to give the archers a challenging shot. One of them landed an arrow in her thigh, while the other buried his shot in her mother's flowering bushes across the room. Anlessa gritted her teeth and pressed forward, crying out in pain as she lunged forward, her blades sweeping out in a wide arc, hitting the two archers simultaneously.

The attackers fell back, dropping their bows and each pulling out a standard issue short sword. Anlessa saw a glimpse of the Amaranthine crest inscribed on the pommel of the swords, and snarled viciously. "Howe!" she screamed in anger as she lunged again towards one of the archers, driving a blade deep into his shoulder, "You treacherous bastard!"

Howe's men fell upon her as one and she heard her Mabari yelp behind her, his attacker finally making solid contact with the hound's massive head. In retaliation, the hound left his bleeding, moaning victim on the ground and flew at his next target, gripping the man's wrist in his jaws and wrenching him from side to side like a chew toy as the soldier screamed in terror and attempted to beat the hound off with his empty fist.

Anlessa was having a challenge with the two archers near her parents' door, parrying one's swing while attempting to land a blow on the other. Luckily, Howe's men appeared to not have been ready for true resistance and had likely been told that, with Fergus and the main body of the army gone, only the women and elders would be found in this wing – easy prey for lazy soldiers. Anlessa grinned, sending a chill through the guard she was staring down. There would be no more easy prey here tonight.

Darting out with her right hand, she landed a sharp plunging blow just above one of the attackers' collarbones, leaving him collapsing with both hands clutched to the wound in a panic. Addressing the other, she extended her swords in a flurry of activity, leaving the man with a myriad of holes in his armor that slowly seeped red as he fought to block her attack, unsure of where the next tip would land. In the end, he joined his friend on the floor, the two of them looking up to the ceiling in shock.

Anlessa gritted her teeth as she pulled the arrow from her leg. She then coldly stood over each of the gasping men, sinking her blade deep into each of their hearts as they lay dying. Looking over to her hound, she watched him revel in the gore of his two prizes. He saw that she had stopped fighting and was instead looking at him expectantly, so he stopped momentarily to perk his ears and give her an eager wag of his tail before diving in again to feast on his kill.

Using the pommel of her sword, Anlessa rapped sharply on the barred door to her parents' bedroom. "Mother! Father! Are you all right? It's all clear."

Anlessa was rewarded with the unmistakable sound of large furniture being slowly but steadily moved behind the door, and waited impatiently for the way to open, her gaze flitting back and forth between her parents' bedroom and the door that opened into the rest of the castle. With a creak, the Teyrn's bedroom door opened, and the mistress of the Castle emerged, dressed in decades-old armor.

"I heard screams and scuffling from the hallway, so I barred the door," she explained. "My dear, are you hurt?"

The girl shifted her body weight onto each leg and tested her arms and upper body. She had some pain from surface and shallow flesh wounds, but nothing serious. Shaking her head, she replied, "Not seriously, no. Is Father with you?"

Worried, Eleanor pursed her lips in response. "No. He never came to bed last evening, he said he would be consulting with Arl Howe."

"These men bear Howe's coat of arms on their swords, Mother. Father's in terrible danger…" Anlessa's voice broke as a dawning realization hit her. "… if he's still alive."

The matron of the Cousland clan pointed a delicate finger at her daughter, saying sternly, "Don't say that. Don't even think it. We're going to get out of here, and we'll find your father."

A mournful howl sounded from across the corridor, and Anlessa realized that her Mabari had wandered off by himself. "Oh, Maker…" breathed her mother, breaking into a run, "Oren! Oriana!"

Anlessa followed her mother across the foyer to the door of her brother's room, and her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry of disdain as she saw her mother slowly fall to her knees before the body of her daughter-in-law and her only grandson while the girl's hound whimpered and gently attempted to nudge them awake. "Maker… no…"

Eleanor reached out tentatively to touch the boy, whose body was covered by Oriana's. She had obviously been attempting to protect her only son, evident by the numerous deep stab wounds through her back. Oren's skin was already cooling, the blood he lay in beginning to congeal. The small, colorful papier mache sword that his father had brought back from Denerim during his last travels was broken, but still clenched in his tiny fist. Eleanor whispered softly and reassuringly to him even as her eyes were blinded with tears, "Oh, my beautiful boy. My brave, beautiful boy."

Closing the child's wide blue eyes, Eleanor rose, trembling with fury. "What fiend would kill an innocent?" Looking back to her daughter, who was leaning against the doorway in shock with tears streaming down her face, the woman experienced a dark epiphany. "They're not taking hostages. He means to kill us all – wipe out our entire family line."

Anlessa wiped her eyes clumsily, struggling not to break down in tears. "What of Fergus?"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "I do not doubt that serpent has plans for your brother. We must get out of the castle and find Fergus – tell him what has happened."

The girl took a deep breath and straightened up, striving to show the confidence her mother had taught her so long ago, despite her innards quivering like gelatin. "Then we find Father, and we escape. Can you fight?"

The woman scoffed at her daughter, removing the worn shield from her back and her sword from its scabbard. "I am no spring chicken, my girl. I am an old hawk, and my talon will scratch out some bastards' eyes yet tonight."

* * *

Mother and daughter crept down the once-familiar halls of the Cousland estate with the girl's Mabari silently following, having been commanded to stop growling at every shadow he saw. The castle was lit with a kind of ephemeral light, and Anlessa guessed by the scent that the light was due to some of the rooms in the castle having been set on fire. Screams of fear and pain occasionally rang out in the night air, and were silenced almost as soon as they began. They had visited Lady Landry's guest quarters, and found her prone body near her son's, with her elven chambermaid crumpled in a bloody mess in the corner. Bodies of servants, guards and Knights alike were slain and left to rot in their path. The castle that had been home to Anlessa for all of her short life now trembled beneath her touch and smelled of death and brimstone.

The small group had reached the Library when Eleanor held up her hand and extended a long silver skeleton key to Anlessa. "We are near the Treasury," she whispered. "Before we go, we must retrieve the family sword. Of anything in this castle, it is the one thing that must be kept out of that Traitor's hands."

Anlessa nodded wordlessly and led her mother and hound to the door of the Treasury, careful to keep from alerting any of Howe's patrolling guards of their presence. As they entered the Armory, however, it was evident that they had been expected. Five of Howe's men waited inside, two of which were fiddling with lock picks and trying to force the Treasury door open.

The two women rushed at the soldiers, weapons brandished and murder in their eyes. Anlessa's Mabari soon followed, selecting his victim of choice and lunging at him repeatedly, seeking an opening to overpower and maul the man. Looking to her dog as she parried and feigned at one of the soldiers, the girl shouted, "Hai!" and the Mabari backed up near she and her mother, in defensive mode, snarling viciously and lunging at whichever of the three remaining men would dare approach the two battle maidens, and doing his best to dodge the subsequent attacks.

One by one, Howe's men opened their guard, and one of the Cousland women found their fatal entries. Watching her daughter fight in person, Eleanor could not help but feel a swell of pride amongst the terrible sorrow and fear, seeing the girl perfecting what she and Bryce had begun to teach her nearly a decade back. With the last of Howe's men bleeding out on the Armory floor, Eleanor gestured to the reinforced door standing before them. Anlessa wasted no time in unlocking the Treasury door, and they stepped inside.

The Cousland Treasury was not a grand room – like their family, it was largely utilitarian, but the family's treasures lay inside. Eleanor approached a sea-weathered chest in the corner, and with a few reassuring clicks of latches opening, she heaved it open. Inside laid the Cousland family sword.

With reverence, Eleanor lifted the sword and scabbard, and then turned to present it to her only daughter. "My dear, take this. It must not fall into Howe's hands. This sword has been passed through the hands of your ancestors for generations. It was wielded by Teyrna Haelia to drive the lycanthrope plague from our lands centuries ago."

Anlessa took the sword from her mother, drawing it out of the scabbard and taking a brief moment of joy in the way the light reflected from its blade. She imagined the sword singing in her hand, as if it had waited impatiently for decades to be used again. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

As the girl secured the scabbard to her belt, her mother laid a hand on her shoulder, looking seriously into her eyes. "My child, now you must listen to me. Howe's men have likely overrun the front gates. We must get to the servant's entrance in the larder to escape. If anything happens, _you must run._"

Anlessa's brown furrowed, "What do you mean?"

Eleanor sighed. "If anything happens to me, you must run. Do not wait for me; do not wait for your father. You must escape, and you must find Fergus."

"This is ridiculous," Anlessa scowled. "I'm not leaving you or Father behind. We will escape together."

Eleanor grasped both of her daughter's shoulders and gave her a firm shake, her eyes welling up in frustration. "Wake up, child, and listen to me! Our home is under siege and we are vastly outnumbered. I will _not_ let our family die out in one stroke from Howe's treachery. You will survive, and you will take vengeance for our house. Do you understand me?"

"I… I understand, Mother."

As they left the Armory, Anlessa noticed that the sky directly above the castle was now thick with grey smoke, wafting up into the sky like a signal. She wondered, briefly, if Fergus would see the smoke if he looked back after his hours of travel. Shaking her head in grief and anger, she led her mother and hound to the rear entrance of the Great Hall.

A din was barely audible through the heavy doors, and Anlessa pressed her ear close to listen. A battle was clearly raging inside the hall. Looking back to her mother, she whispered, "Ready yourself." Throwing the door open, she clicked her tongue sharply, and her Mabari raced forward eagerly, toppling the first of Howe's soldiers that he reached. Anlessa followed close behind, and examined the scene. A handful of the Cousland guards were fighting alongside Ser Gilmore, and had been overtaken by nearly a dozen of Howe's men, including one robed woman in the back who was wielding an intricately carved staff and was swaying slightly as she murmured dark incantations.

Turning to her mother, Anlessa cried, "Help Ser Gilmore!" and then raced to the back of the room, the mage clearly targeted in her sights.

Anlessa had never met a mage in person, and had only heard stories of their immense power from her father, who had seen a few of them in his battles against the Orlesian empire. Mages were typically kept in Western Ferelden, kept under close watch by the Templars of the Chantry, as their forebears' greed was reportedly responsible for the destruction of the Maker's cherished Golden City. This one had apparently not received word that she was supposed to stay in the tower – no matter, thought Anlessa, she'll get that message soon enough.

The young warrior darted forward as fast as her legs could carry her, and the mage noticed her threat immediately. Arm raised high in the air, the mage shouted a word of power, and Anlessa skidded to a stop, her breath frozen in her lungs as her body was painfully chilled to the core. Exhaling, she saw her breath collect before her face and then coalesce into snowflakes, which fell to her feet. The mage, seeing the shock on the girl's face, laughed heartily and brought her hands to her chest, thrusting them forward. Too sluggish to dart out of the way, Anlessa took the full weight of the blow to her chest and was knocked back to the stone floor, rubble from the hit scattering around her and disappearing like melting ice.

Anlessa met the mage's glare with her own and noted the woman's chest was heaving with exertion and there was a glint of sweat on her brow. She smiled – her father hadn't told her that a mage's power wasn't infinite. Struggling to her feet while her joints screamed with the pain of a thawing winter, she forced herself forward again at full speed, pleased to see the mage had resulted to funneling her energy through her staff, sending jolts of lighting running painfully but bearably through Anlessa's body.

The warrior reached her target, performing a stunning riposte as she batted away the mage's staff and countered with a plunging hit into the mage's shoulder. The woman cried out, reflexively dropping the intricately carved branch and grasping her shoulder in unfamiliar pain, completely unprepared for the girl's backhanded slash that opened the mage's throat and drove her to her knees.

By this time, the archers at the rear of the room had targeted Anlessa and were firing rapidly at her. She could feel a few of them happily rebounding off of her scale armor, but a severe pain in her shoulder and at the back of her thigh suggested that the Maker wasn't helping to deflect all of the blows. Anlessa darted to the nearest archer, ducking behind him to give herself temporary cover from his comrades. As he dropped his bow to gather up his sword, Anlessa pressed her advantage and plunged forward into him with her shoulder, pulling him tightly to her as she forced her blade past his leather armor and into his abdomen. The soldier cried out in agony as she twisted the blade and pulled it back out, letting him drop to the floor.

The Mabari, having finished off his own target, looked up to see Anlessa running for another archer, settled back in the corner. With joy racing in his heart, he ran headlong for his mistress' target, jumping onto the large dining table the archer attempted to hide behind and leaping high into the air in an arc that landed him directly on the soldier's shoulders. Anlessa shouted out praise to her hound as the man toppled, his bow and arrow scattered out of reach, and the hound's snapping jaws making it impossible for him to unshield his face long enough to reach his sword. Anlessa reached the man and gave the Mabari the command to disengage, and immediately brought a sword down above the man's heart with all of her might.

Looking back to the main group, she saw that Ser Gilmore and her mother both were bleeding, and Gilmore fought valiantly though she knew him well enough to know that it was by will alone that he was still on his feet. They and the remaining two guards had formed a tight circle, allowing Howe's men to surround them in order to prevent the soldiers from easily flanking any one. Anlessa and her hound rushed to meet them, gaining surprise attacks to the backs of Howe's men, and the battle was over within minutes.

With the last of Howe's soldiers fallen, Anlessa saw Ser Gilmore falter and struggle to stay upright. Rushing to her friend's side, she ducked under an arm, using all of her strength to keep him standing while she gently led him to a seat, nearby. Looking down to his armor, it was evident that more than one wound had been landed on the young Knight, as he was bleeding profusely. "Mother!" she cried, "Please help!"

Eleanor limped over to her daughter and Ser Gilmore, her injuries painful but not life threatening. Examining the boy briefly, she scowled. "Get his breastplate off. Quickly!"

Anlessa worked as quickly as she could, pulling roughly at leather straps as an ashen Gilmore passed in and out of consciousness in her arms. With the breastplate finally removed, Anlessa saw that the majority of his tunic was wet with blood and she gasped in shock. The girl pressed firmly on the worst of the wounds to staunch the bleeding and looked to her mother. Eleanor was darting from body to body on the floor, commanding the guards to look through their own meager supply packs, and returned with an armful of small glass vials whose milky-red contents glowed softly. "Wake him up," she said, "he must drink these. Those wounds are too far gone to be bandaged."

Anlessa obediently addressed Ser Gilmore, slapping him sharply on the cheeks and giving him a gentle but firm shake. "Gilmore! Wake up, soldier. You're not finished, yet."

Gilmore's eyelids fluttered weakly as she raised the first of the draughts to his lips. "Drink. This is a command, Gilmore. Drink this _now_."

The Knight opened his lips weakly and Anlessa poured the draught slowly onto his tongue, watching his throat contracting as he forced himself to swallow. The effect was immediate, and his eyes opened as he strove to focus on his surroundings. Looking to the girl, he murmured, "Lady Anlessa? Is that you? You're alive?"

She smiled and took the next open draught from her mother's outstretched hand. "It is I, Ser Gilmore, and Mother is here, as well. Keep drinking, gather your strength."

Gilmore smiled as the next draught was passed through his lips and he began to sit up on his own, now able to see around him. "Your Ladyship. It is good to see you. We were afraid Howe's men had broken through."

Anlessa replied softly, "They did break through, my friend. Oriana and Oren are lost, as are the Landrys. The castle has fallen, and we're heading to the servant's entrance to escape." Noting the color returning to his once robust cheeks, she asked, "How are you feeling, now?"

Gilmore replied by taking one of the draughts on his own and raised it to his lips, then rising shakily to his feet. "This will do, my Lady. I thank you for your timely rescue. We've been trying to hold the front gates, but it's been challenging."

Anlessa held Gilmore's elbow gently, helping him stabilize. "What of my father, Ser Gilmore? Does he live?"

The young Knight breathed deeply, feeling his strength return to his body slowly. Shouts were heard from outside the reinforced doors to the Great Hall leading to the main courtyard, and Gilmore's face hardened into a staunch determination. "He's been injured, Lady Anlessa, badly. The Warden had taken him to the larder to help him get to the servants' entrance, and I have not seen either of them since." Looking to both of the Cousland women, he added, "My Lady, your Ladyship, you must get to the servants' entrance. We will hold the line here to give you time to escape."

Anlessa looked at her mother in shock as the elder Cousland nodded to Ser Gilmore in assent. "No! You can escape with us. We'll find Father and…"

Gilmore rested his hand respectfully on the girl's shoulder and looked into her sea-blue eyes. "I will hold the line for you, my Lady. Without us here, the castle will surely be overrun." Smiling sadly, he added, "I thank you for your help here, we'd have fallen without you. My duty is here, to protect your family and your land until my last breath. Your duty lies elsewhere."

Eleanor looked to Anlessa and whispered, "We must move, dear child. We cannot dally here any further."

Anlessa looked up to Ser Gilmore and, with a moment's hesitation, placed a farewell kiss on his cheek. "Maker watch over you, Ser Gilmore."

"Maker watch over us all."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

The smoke was thick in the corridor leading from the Great Hall to the kitchen, and it was evident that entire sections of the castle were near collapsing towards the entrance from the heat of the fires there. Coughing hoarsely, Anlessa took her mother's hand, leading her to the stone floor so the two of them could crawl forward underneath the thick billows of smoke with her Mabari following closely behind. They reached the Kitchen uneventfully, the smoke from the fires providing them with cover and giving Howe's soldiers less of an incentive to prowl this part of the castle for further victims.

Anlessa reached up to open the kitchen door, and was relieved to see that it was not plagued with the smoke from the hallway. The girl rushed in, closing the door as quietly as possible once her mother and hound had entered. A mourning sigh from Eleanor brought her attention back to the room, where she saw Nan's lifeless body prone on the floor, and blood pooling around the corpses of the elven servants huddled in the corner. Anlessa turned her head from the carnage and moved forward to the larder. She pressed her ear to the larder door, and heard nothing from the other side.

The girl nodded to her mother, and opened the larder door. Inside, the Teyrn lay in a wide pool of his own blood.

"Bryce!" Eleanor rushed past her daughter to the side of her husband, raising his head and resting it on her thigh. "Bryce, speak to me, please!"

Anlessa's heart sank. Her father's chest barely moved and he was deathly pale. Deftly, she uncorked the last of the vials her mother had collected earlier, and pressed it into her mother's hands as she knelt next to her dying father.

Bryce's eyes fluttered open after the draught passed his lips, and he managed a weak smile as he looked up into his wife's face. "Eleanor…" he murmured, his voice hoarse, "You're alive?"

Eleanor caressed his face and smiled in return. "We live, my love. Anlessa cut a path through Howe's soldiers to lead me to you."

The wounded man struggled to move his head to look over at his armored daughter, and his smile strengthened. "I'm sure those bastards never knew what hit them, Pup. You do me proud."

Anlessa reached out to caress her father's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "We need to get you out of here, father. They're amassing at the gates, and our time runs short."

"No… someone must reach Fergus."

"Bryce, no. The servant's entrance is right here – we can flee together, find healing magic."

The Teyrn shook his head, closing his eyes in pain. "The castle is surrounded. I will never make it."

"I'm afraid the Teyrn is correct." Anlessa looked up to see the blood-spattered Grey Warden entering the larder, sheathing his sword. "Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they have surrounded the castle. Getting past will be difficult."

Eleanor looked up at the warrior in surprise. "You yet live, Duncan? You were the one to deliver my Bryce to safety?"

The Warden nodded solemnly, "We tried to reach you, your Ladyship. I am afraid I was not able to protect the Teyrn from his injuries, however."

Bryce struggled to sit up, his pleading eyes on the blood-splattered Warden. "Duncan, you are under no obligation to me, but I beg of you – take my wife and daughter to safety. They must survive this night."

Duncan bowed his head in respect. "I will, your Lordship. I fear, however, that I must ask something in return. The evil that your family faces this evening pales in comparison to what has now been loosed upon this world. I came to your house seeking a recruit. The threat of the Blight demands that I leave with one."

Bryce sighed and closed his eyes, nodding softly. "Yes… I understand."

Anlessa looked to her parents, and then to the Grey Warden, the shock clear on her face. "No! Are you mad? I'm not leaving you, Father!"

"Pup, listen to me. I cannot stand, much less escape past Howe's men. You and your mother must go."

Duncan nodded, knowing the extent of the Teyrn's injuries would not permit him to survive the trip outside the castle, much less to a place where he might solicit healing. "I will take the Teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, my Lord. We will tell Fergus and the King what happened. Then, your daughter will join the Grey Wardens."

The Teyrn's face hardened into a scowl. "As long as Justice comes to Renden Howe, I agree."

Duncan turned to Anlessa, "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

The girl looked back to the ashen face of her father in protest. "Father…"

Bryce shook his head as firmly as he could manage. "Anlessa, the Couslands answer the call of our duty with pride. Go with Duncan. See this Blight ended, and see our vengeance exacted on Howe."

Eleanor looked uncertain. "Bryce, are you certain?"

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live, and make her mark on the world."

The Teyrna hung her head, and nodded. Looking up at Anlessa, she said with sorrow in her eyes, "Darling – go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor…"

"Hush, Bryce. I will kill every bastard who dares to cross that threshold, to buy them time – I won't abandon you."

"Mother!"

"My place is by your father's side, to death and beyond. Your place is with the Grey Wardens."

The Teyrn's extended an unsteady hand to grasp his wife's and he squeezed it gently. "I… I'm sorry it's come to this."

She smiled in reply and placed her lips lovingly on his forehead. "We've lived a good life, my love. We've done all we could. It's up to our children, now."

"Then go, Pup. Warn your brother, and know that we love you both. Do us proud."

Anlessa and Duncan looked up in alarm as a resounding crash echoed through the halls of the castle. Duncan stood, pulling his new charge to her feet firmly. "They have made their way through the gates. We must hurry."

Anlessa attempted to argue as she was pulled to the servant's entrance, her hound waiting impatiently ahead for her to follow. She reached out to her mother, who was cradling the Teyrn's head once again in her hands. Looking up, Eleanor whispered, "Goodbye, my darling."

* * *

The elder Warden and his newest recruit stayed hidden that evening deep in the forests of Highever, nearly two hours of a run South from the castle. The chaos of the evening combined with residents of Highever proper fleeing in panic gave them a cover that they would not otherwise have anticipated. When they retreated to the cover of a nearby cave, Anlessa had collapsed to her knees, chest heaving first in exhaustion, and then in sorrow. Duncan closed his eyes and sat at the mouth of the cavern with his back to the girl, offering her some privacy in the dark as she moaned the heart wrenching sobs of a child lost to the world. He sighed heavily. If she had withstood this test of fire and survived, he knew her potential in the Order was great, but his heart ached for her loss and the brutality of this level of treachery.

Hours later, he looked in upon her, curled up on the filthy floor of the cave, arms wrapped tightly around her Mabari with her face buried in the hound's warm neck. The hound looked up at Duncan and whined softly. The elder Warden crouched slowly near the beast and held out his hand in a gesture of friendship, something he'd learned seemingly a lifetime ago when traveling with the breed for the first time. Whispering softly, he said, "I see you take care of your Mistress well, great beast. Have no fear, I intend her no harm. She has much to do, and I trust you'll join her in her task."

Sniffing Duncan's hand, the Mabari seemed satisfied that Anlessa was not threatened. A warm, pink tongue briefly darted out to touch Duncan before the Mabari murmured lazily and laid its head again to rest. Anlessa stirred momentarily, high-pitched noises tickling the back of her throat as the horrors of the evening replayed themselves in her mind. Reflexively, she gripped the massive dog closer to her, muttered softly, and returned to a deep and exhausted sleep.

Duncan looked to the mouth of the cave, and could feel the sunrise beckoning just off of the horizon. There was still so much to do, and days of ground to cover before they would reach Ostagar – it was time to wake his charge. Looking back down at the sleeping girl, however, he relented and returned to his watch at the cavern's mouth. There may be much to do, but still there was brief time to spare. A few more hours of oblivion for his newest recruit could be granted in mercy. She may be uneasy this eve, but it would be one of her last nights of rest before the Joining would change everything she'd ever known.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

Anlessa found the journey to Ostagar to be no more than a blur, her mind and soul numbed by what she'd experienced in her last night at Highever. Duncan proved to be a less talkative companion than her own hound, and his piercing gazes into the distance – whether they were in frozen fields or in the bone-chilling marsh of the wilds – told her that his own mind was far away from their present location. Indeed, Duncan was concentrating on the path to Ostagar, and on the growing threat that was gathering outside the ruined walls. He could feel the horde moving like a great cloud across the land, heading north and seeking to deaden everything in its path. The closer their small party grew to the South, the more powerfully he could feel the Taint of the horde pricking at the back of his mind.

Overall, their journey had been uneventful. Any doubts that Anlessa had about Howe's men pursuing their escaped quarry were settled within days – not one scout drew near their camps or showed themselves to be following their trail. Duncan had quietly showed her some of the techniques of stealthy travels – doubling back on a trail, establishing a camp that could be easily deconstructed with minimal signs of their presence. Still, Anlessa thought, it was Winter, and while they were lucky enough to be traveling through the regions that did not yet have snowfall, she had thought they'd have to deal with at least one group of Howe's men as they fled since there was not one night that they'd been able to avoid establishing a fire.

"Duncan," she asked, "Do you find it at all odd that we haven't been tracked down by any of Howe's scouts by now?"

Duncan raised his eyebrow and looked back to his charge, and stopped just long enough to allow her to catch up to him. He watched her studying the marshy ground around them as they picked their way through the final miles to the ruins, and found himself curious. She was not the first recruit he'd adopted to the Order during times of great personal strife, but once his recruits had recovered from their shock, they typically barraged him with questions about being a Warden.

Duncan walked alongside her, his eyes darting between the ground before them to the wilds around them in search for hidden danger as he replied, "I must admit, Anlessa, I did find it unexpectedly fortuitous that we were able to leave Highever without significant challenges."

She nodded and frowned slightly. "They would have counted the bodies. They'd have known that we were missing, that we hadn't been accounted for. When Howe took over the Castle, his men seemed to want to eliminate all of my family line as a potential threat." Looking up to Duncan, she met his piercing gaze. "Howe has hounds, he has horses, and he has good, capable men. Once we left, it's as if he just didn't care that we had escaped."

The elder Warden considered this, and agreed that there was no good reason for why they had not been successfully tracked by Howe's scouts. "Perhaps he believes that you and your brother will not survive the coming battle. As the darkspawn horde grows, our danger increases. The Arl knows that his troops will not be here to push the horde back, and this will make the battle all the more challenging." He looked to her, mischief barely visible in his dark eyes. "Perhaps he sees no threat from a mere girl. Perhaps he's counting on you to fail."

Anlessa felt her face flush reflexively at the challenge. It was true that with the two surviving Couslands at Ostagar facing a horde of the worst the land could offer, the odds were certainly possible that neither of them would return without any further treachery needed from Howe himself. She had never seen, much less faced, the legendary terror of the darkspawn before. However, she knew that any creature that required its own elite order of warriors to achieve victory had its share of danger.

Duncan saw Anlessa's contemplation, and smiled as her eyes rose and looked straight ahead with a determination that made him proud. "If that is true," she said, "I swear it will be the last opportunity he has to underestimate a Cousland."

* * *

Ostagar stands atop a lonely cliff nestled in the murk of the Korcari Wilds, constructed as the Tevinter Imperium's first and best defense from the Wilder folk of the South. The fortress was constructed during the height of the ancient Tevinter rule of the continent, and straddles the break in the hills that separates North from South. Since the collapse of the Imperium, the fortress had fallen to the Chasind, and then disintegrated into ruin.

The Warden and his recruit trudged through the murk of the Korcari Wilds, their path winding through the thick marsh. Occasionally, Duncan would stop and appear to listen, his eyes closed tight and his breathing slowed. Often, they would then dart off into another direction at a forced pace, his charge following behind as quietly and quickly as possible. Anlessa supposed he must have been an excellent tracker – at no point did her hound even catch a scent of a predator, so she was in wonder that Duncan was able to track from such distances. On the last eve before they reached the ruins of Ostagar, Duncan woke her well before it grew light. They pulled up camp hurriedly, and he rushed her and the hound into the thick of the Wilds, making a bee-line for the South. Fear pricked at her mind as they rushed through the cold swamp, and she could see the cold sweat beading on Duncan's brow in the full moonlight. Her hound, instinctively keeping close to his mistress, stayed silent with his ears back and hackled raised until dawn broke and they were within sight of the ruins.

When she finally saw Duncan ease the tension he'd been carrying since they rushed out of camp, she asked, "What happened back there?"

Duncan frowned. "Darkspawn – scouts, most likely. The creatures share a kind of 'hive mind,' and have the ability to notify large groups almost instantly when they've found something of note. They were far too close to finding us last night."

Anlessa allowed herself an appreciative grin. "I have to say, I've never seen anyone track as well as you before. You know where these creatures lurk before even my hound notices. It's very impressive."

"It's a gift that we are given that each Warden develops with time. When we reach Ostagar, you will join your fellow recruits in preparing for a ritual that has been passed down through the centuries from generation to generation of Grey Wardens. The Joining will bestow upon you those unique tools which make members of our Order unique among warriors. One of those tools you've seen me use in our travels – the ability to sense the location and movement of the darkspawn. Whether they lurk in the shadows or burrow underground, you will be able to sense your quarry and know their paths, so you can plan your line of attack accordingly."

Anlessa snorted, "… and here I thought you just had very good hearing for an old man."

Duncan and Anlessa laughed as they made their way up the entrance to the old Tevinter ruin. The fort had been built in ancient times by the Tevinter Imperium for the sole purpose of protecting the nation's Northern lands from the barbarian incursions from the South. Anlessa was used to the utilitarian architecture of Ferelden, where thatched roofs and exposed wooden beams were the norm. This ruin was Tevinter stone and marble, with intricately carved archways welcoming you into the inner sanctum and a twisting tower rising high enough to touch to clouds. Ostagar was built into the top of a cliff, forcing one's enemies to show themselves long before they could ever reach the defenders. Anlessa looked back behind them at the swamp below and found herself in awe at the expanse of the landscape below the ruin.

Anlessa's revelry was disturbed by a hearty shout from the ruin's entrance. "Ho, there! Duncan!"

A figure donned in glimmering golden armor waved to the travelers from atop the climb. She'd seen him in events that her parents had brought her to in prior years, and his long corn-silk-blond hair was unmistakable. Anlessa laughed and matched step with Duncan as he sped up to meet the young man waiting ahead. Murmuring so that only he could hear, she said, "I didn't know you had the King's ear, Duncan."

"Not his ear," he replied, "Merely his attention."

Duncan and his charge reached the top of the summit, where the ruler of Ferelden waited with a genuine smile on his face.

"King Cailan! I didn't expect…"

"…A royal welcome?" Cailan opened his arms wide and embraced the Warden with vigor, clapping him on the back strongly. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

Duncan broke from the embrace and bowed slightly in greeting. "Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

Cailan nodded in approval and Anlessa watched in appreciation. Her King was still young, not yet thirty summers, and had come to power five years back when it was determined that his father, King Maric Therein, had been lost to the sea. With his mother gone many years prior, this had left Cailan to take the throne and lead his country. She had been fortunate enough to have been taken to the coronation by her parents, and clearly remembered the hush of the Chantry temple despite the hundreds packed shoulder to shoulder in attendance. She remembered Cailan kneeling before the Reverend Mother as she spoke the words of blessing and called upon the Maker's hand to guide the new King as he stewarded the country into the future. When Cailan was presented to those in attendance, the cheers that arose as he addressed the crowd nearly deafened the girl. Anlessa had joined her parents in the receiving line, and had the opportunity to be briefly presented to the new King.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle, after all. Glorious! The other Wardens told me you'd gone North after a promising recruit." Cailan turned to her with a smile, "I take it this is she?"

Duncan nodded, with another slight bow. "Indeed, your Majesty. Allow me to introduce you…"

"No need to be so formal, Duncan." Cailan strode with an easy confidence and bowed smoothly in greeting to Anlessa, then smiled as he looked up and caught her eye, mischief and playfulness rampant in his gaze. It was like looking into the eyes of a child. "After all, we'll be spilling blood together. Wait…" The mischief left the King's eye and was replaced by genuine surprise. "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've ever actually met."

Anlessa curtsied, "We have, your Majesty – briefly, at your coronation." She smiled, and cast her eyes down in respect. "We were among a few thousand demanding your attention, of course."

Cailan laughed, "Quite right – I think I may have met half of Ferelden that day! Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we are still awaiting your father."

Her countenance fell and Anlessa cast her eyes away, willing her emotions to stay in check. Cailan noticed the change immediately, asking, "Is there something wrong? Will Bryce not be joining us?"

"He will not be coming, your Highness," Anlessa said in a whisper, "He died when our castle was taken."

"What? Dead? What do you mean?" Cailan turned to the elder Warden, the outrage clear on his face. "Duncan, do you know anything about this?"

Duncan cleared his throat before explaining, "Teryn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty," he gestured gently to Anlessa, "…as is her brother's wife and son. Arl Howe has shown himself an opportunist and a traitor, and has overtaken Highever Castle with the troops that were to join you for battle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

The King shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed together in anger and disbelief as he began pacing before Anlessa and the Warden. "I… I can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery!"

Cailan stopped and looked at Anlessa with new eyes, tinged with sorrow. "My Lady Cousland, please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss. As soon as we are done here, I will turn our armies north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word."

Anlessa curtsied again, "I thank you, your Majesty." She stood up, her back straight and regarded the King with respect. "My father always spoke highly of you, my King. I know it would bring peace to his soul to know you would seek out his murderer personally."

He smiled respectfully and nodded. "No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and a band of your men are scouting the Wilds. We do not anticipate their return prior to tomorrow's battle." Looking up to Duncan, he added, "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain eagerly waits to bore me with his strategies."

Duncan nodded in response. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

Cailan scoffed at this. "Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters, and tomorrow should be no different." He sighed sadly, "I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. Certainly, there are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but we have yet to see any sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, your Majesty?"

The King pouted slightly. "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A King riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But, I suppose this will have to do."

The young man reached forward, clasping Duncan's forearm again in welcome and gripping it warmly as the Warden did the same in response. "Farewell for now. I must go before Loghain sends out a search party." He looked over to Anlessa and smiled with a brief nod, "My Lady Cousland."

Anlessa and Duncan bowed to the King and watched him walk back to camp across the long bridge that spanned the gap between the body of the fort, and the signal tower that they stood beneath.

"He seems very confident of this impending victory," Anlessa observed. "It's a wonder you need more recruits at all. It sounds like it may not be a true Blight."

Duncan pursed his lips and motioned for his ward to follow him to the camp. "Some may think so, but I disagree. What the King said is true – they've won several battles against the darkspawn of late. Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. Tomorrow, they look to outnumber us. I know there's an Archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the King to act solely on my feeling."

Anlessa regarded Duncan with scrutiny as they walked. "I don't know why not. He seems to hold you and the Order in very high regard."

He nodded, "Yes, but not so high that he'd be willing to wait for the reinforcements that are coming from Orlais. He seems to think that our mere presence in the battle renders him invincible. Our Order's numbers are too few in Ferelden. We must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we must proceed with the Joining Ritual without delay."

"A ritual?" queried Anlessa, "What will that entail?"

"Every recruit must go through a secret ritual that we call the Joining before becoming a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon in order to be ready for tomorrow's battle."

Anlessa looked up to the sky, noting the midday sun shining upon them. "There is time enough for some rest and a hot meal first, I hope?"

Duncan chuckled. "That does sound good, doesn't it? Certainly. Make what preparations you will. Two other recruits are here already, Ser Jory and Daveth, and await the beginning of the ritual in camp. There is another Grey Warden that will be waiting for you in the camp, by the name of Alistair. When you are refreshed, seek him out and let him know that it is time to summon the other recruits. If you'd like, I'll bring your Mabari with me to the Ash Warriors camp, where he can be properly fed."

Duncan and Anlessa arrived in the body of the camp, and Anlessa tried to take it all in. The number of soldiers milling about their own business astounded her. So, this was war – thousands of warriors gathered together for a common purpose to face a common enemy. It was fascinating. Dozens of soldiers gathered near a Chantry priestess who was providing the Maker's blessing. She felt a kind of electricity in the air to the right, where a group of mages were practicing their arcane talents. Men and women, humans and elves, milled about in a variety of armor types, some choosing to sharpen their skills with sparring as they awaited tomorrow's challenge.

The elder Warden looked at the girl and smiled knowingly. "You have much to take in here. Explore as you must, then find Alistair and meet me near the entrance to the Grey Wardens' area of the camp. He will know where to find me."

Anlessa nodded, her jaw a bit slack from the shock of taking in such a bustling preparation for battle. "Certainly, Duncan. I will meet with you shortly."


	7. Chapter 6

VI

"So, any last requests before tomorrow's battle?" The handsome young man clad in slim leather armor was leaning against a pillar nearby, leering at a blonde soldier who seemed to want to be anywhere else at that moment. "Life is fleeting, you know. You should take advantage of your opportunities while they last." With that, he reached out to caress the woman's hand with his.

Sighing in frustration, the young woman brushed him off and walked away. He called out after her, "The offer stands, sweetheart! Come find Daveth if you think of anything you might want… or _need_."

Anlessa's eyes narrowed. "Daveth? You're one of Duncan's recruits?"

Daveth's puckish brown eyes focused on the youngest Cousland and quite obviously summed up her feminine charms from head to toe. "Indeed I am. And, might I add, you are nothing like I'd expected you to be."

Anlessa's eyebrow raised. "Exactly how did you expect me to be, then?"

"Male, for one. You're the only female Warden that I've seen yet in this camp, and I've been doing quite a bit of snooping about while waiting for you and Duncan to show up. Has he told you anything of this Ritual we're supposed to be doing?"

"He hasn't, actually, except to tell me it must happen tonight. You?"

"No one will tell me a thing about it, but I do my fair share of sneaking, you see. I overheard a couple of Wardens last night and it sounds like they're sending us out into the Korcari wilds."

Anlessa thought back briefly to her trek with Duncan through the wilds. "That doesn't seem so bad," she noted.

Daveth's face flushed with eagerness as he shook his head in disagreement. "I was raised on tales of the Wilds. You never go into the Wilds. They have monsters, beasts, and _witches_ in there. I don't know how you feel about it, but I have no interest in being turned into a toad."

"I can't imagine they'd send us into anything too dangerous, Daveth."

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?" He snorted with derision, "Not like we have much of a choice, anyhow."

Anlessa puzzled at this. "You're forced to be here?"

Daveth held up his hand, motioning for Anlessa to watch and wait. He wandered out into the main path of foot traffic in the camp, and waited for a group of eagerly chatting soldiers to walk by. He seemed to disappear into their group before returning to her, tossing a ripe apple in his right hand.

"You're a cutpurse," she said in disbelief.

"_And_ a pickpocket, I'll have you know. It was either this, love, or Fort Drakon. There's not much of a call for my 'unique skills,' as Duncan called them, in polite society. I was caught red-handed by Duncan himself in the market when I tried to lift his purse – he's quick for an old bugger. The Sergeant that arrested me in Denerim was none too happy to let me go, either. He had been trying to get a hand on me for months. When Duncan gave me the choice of Conscription or prison, the choice was simple… but it also means I'm stuck here until the end." Daveth took a bit of the apple, relishing the crisp texture before tossing Anlessa the rest of the fruit. "Anyhow, I imagine since you're here, it's time to go see Duncan. I'll be waiting with him if you need me, sweetheart."

Anlessa watched the curious rogue head off into the crowd, and found herself reflexively checking herself to see if anything important was missing from her person. Shrugging, she took a bite of the apple, herself, and continued her exploration.

Two large and colorful tents were set at the end of the common area, with guards stationed outside the tent entrances. Wandering in that direction, she recognized the royal seal on a banner outside the larger of the two tents, and what she assumed to be a regional or familial seal on the smaller of the two tents. Stopping outside of the smaller tent, she looked quizzical enough to catch the attention of one of the guards.

A gruff guard stepped forward and examined her casually, saying, "You approach the tent of Teyrn Loghain. State your business."

Anlessa's eyebrow arched. It was known that King Maric's long-time friend and the most decorated General in Ferelden was also one of King Cailan's most trusted advisors, and the primary planner for all major military activities. He also became Cailan's father-in-law the moment that the new King took Anora Mac Tir as his wife. "I would seek and audience with the Teyrn, if you would, please," she responded.

The guard stood a bit straighter. "I suppose you must have a message for the Teyrn, then. Just a moment."

The guard disappeared into the otherwise quiet tent, and re-emerged moments later, holding the tent entryway open for a large man in shining steel armor to emerge. The imposing figure that stood before her was larger in life than could have been communicated in the tales she'd been told as a child, and the Orlesian armor that he'd taken as spoils of war made his severe and joyless countenance all the more dark. In his face, she saw weariness combined with a significant amount of determination.

"Yes? What is it?" Loghain looked at the young Cousland and nodded. "Ah. Duncan's newest Grey Warden, I assume."

Anlessa swallowed, suddenly unsure of why she'd asked for an audience at all. "Yes," she replied, "I suppose I am."

Loghain frowned, nodding again. "Cailan has an unhealthy fascination with your Order. I assume you know his father, King Maric, was the one to bring your order back to Ferelden?"

Again Anlessa nodded, her mouth drying with unexplained anxiety. The difference between the King and his advisor could not be more stark. Being in Loghain's presence was the worst of the winter's blizzards compared to Cailan's glorious summer sun. "Yes," she replied, "I remember reading that."

Loghain looked off into the distance as he continued, "Maric would have understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle – an understanding that his son does not share. This, however, is not an argument I will repeat here." Loghain's dismissive gaze turned once more upon the young warden. "You look familiar. I have seen you somewhere before. At the Landsmeet, perhaps?"

"My father…" Anlessa faltered briefly under his gaze before continuing, "He was Teyrn of Highever."

"Ah, yes. Bryce Cousland." Loghain's gaze softened momentarily as he regarded the girl. "Cailan has told me of his promise to you. I have no doubt that he aims to keep it. Now… is there anything else?"

Anlessa paused for a moment before realizing what her message was to be. "You know then, Teyrn Loghain,that the troops from Amaranthine will not be joining as had been expected?"

Loghain snorted. "Yes, I believe that was made crystal clear by Cailan's report. We have planned tomorrow's battle accordingly. Now, I must return to my task." Turning his back on her, he continued, "Pray that our King is amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort."

Softly, Anlessa replied, "You don't seem very fond of him."

Loghain stopped and considered this a moment before turning his head back to reply to her, "He is Maric's son, and King of my beloved Ferelden. He is also a _very_ young man. I try to keep that in mind. I advise you do the same."

With that, Anlessa was alone with two guards that were doing their best to pretend that she wasn't standing there, leaving her to consider what she's just experienced.

Wandering past the mabari compound, Anlessa found herself in an open air infirmary and she watched quietly as sisters of the Chantry fluttered like butterflies from patient to patient. Looking around the courtyard, she saw a ginger-haired soldier standing nearby, observing much as she was.

"Excuse me," she said, I'm trying to find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair. Do you happen to know who I'm looking for?"

"Ah! You must be the newest recruit I've been hearing about." He held his hand out in greeting. "Ser Jory's my name."

Anlessa took Jory's hand, and returned his eager smile. "Mine's Anlessa, Ser Jory. I'm pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, my Lady Cousland."

The girl startled. "You know me? I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage, I'm sorry…"

Jory's smile was genuine. "I originally hail from Redcliffe, where I had been a knight under Arl Eamon's rule. I was sent almost a year back to Highever to serve in your father's ranks, and spent most of my working hours near home on patrol into the countryside. I doubt you would remember me, my Lady." He bowed slightly at the waist, his head dropping forward in respect.

Anlessa put her hand on the Knight's arm warmly and smiled into his beaming countenance. "It is good to meet you, Ser Jory. I thank you for your service to Highever, and my family. How long has it been since you'd left Highever?"

"When I received word from home that Duncan was recruiting in Redcliffe a couple of months back, I asked for leave to test my skills in front of the Grey Wardens. I've been trying to convince my wife to join me back home for months, but she was raised in Highever and now that she's with child, she's unwilling to uproot our small farm. I hope both of us are lucky enough to be able to join the Wardens. Isn't it thrilling to be given that chance?"

Anlessa chuckled at the eager ginger-haired knight's enthusiasm. "Have you heard anything about the Joining ritual? I met Daveth, and he suggested we may be sent out into the Wilds."

Jory frowned at this, worry lining his face. "Yes, and I've never heard of such a thing – further tests after being recruited?" Jory shrugged this off with a shake of his head, and his smile returned. "However, since you're here I suppose I ought to be getting back to Duncan. You are looking for Alistair, correct? Last I saw, he was heading to the temple." Jory pointed off to the Southeast. "I think you can find him over there. I'll be seeing you soon!"


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

Anlessa had been informed by a few people she'd queried that a Grey Warden had been loitering in the Old Temple for some time, and once she'd talked with Ser Jory, she knew this was the Warden that she was to seek out. She wound her way back through the camp, her eye kept on the shattered white marble dome that suggested Tevinter Temple construction. As she neared, she could hear tensions rising from within the Temple, even before she could see who was involved.

"What is it _now_? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?"

She turned the corner to see a young blond Warden standing before a middle-aged mage, shifting his feet and flashing an impish grin. "I simply wanted to deliver a message to you from the Revered Mother, sir mage. She desires your presence."

The mage bristled at the response. "What her Reverence _desires _is of no concern to me. _I_ am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the King's orders, I might add."

The Warden cocked an eyebrow. "Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"Right. _I _was harassing _you_ by delivering a message. Got it."

"Your glibness does you no credit."

The youth snorted. "…and here, I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you – the grumpy one."

Face reddening, the mage waved the young man aside. "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!" Pushing past the Warden, he demanded, "Out of my way, Fool."

The blond watched the mage go with a wry grin, and walked over to Anlessa, saying, "You know, that's one good thing about the Blight – how it brings people together."

Anlessa smiled, responding with, "You… are a very strange man."

He smirked. "You're not the first woman to tell me that." Eying her carefully, he frowned. "Wait. We haven't met, have we? Don't tell me you're another mage."

She laughed and looked down at her scale armor and give him a quizzical look. "No, definitely not a mage. My name's Anlessa. I'm hoping that you're Alistair."

"Wait! Yes! I know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever. I should have known you right away, I apologize."

Anlessa's eyebrows raised. "…and how would you have known me?"

He smiled. "Duncan sent word. He spoke rather highly of you. I suppose introductions are in order – my name is, indeed, Alistair." He extended his hand eagerly in greeting, which she took readily. "As a Junior member of the Order, I will be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining. You know, it just occurred to me that there haven't been many women in the ranks of the Grey Wardens." He paused momentarily. "Hrm. I wonder why that is."

"You'd like more women in the Grey Wardens, is that it?"

"Would that be so bad?" he replied. "I mean, it's not like I'm some kind of drooling lecher or anything (please stop looking at me like that). So, I'm curious – did you have a chance to encounter any darkspawn on your way in?"

Anlessa shook her head. "I haven't. On our trip from Highever, Duncan was able to keep us far enough away from the scouts that we could avoid them without detection. How about you?"

Alistair shuddered and nodded. "I've been a part of the three battles here while waiting for you and Duncan to return. When I encountered my first darkspawn, I wasn't nearly prepared for how monstrous it was. Consider a horde of everything that is wretched, terrifying and horrible about the world wrapped up into decaying bodies and running at you with swords. I am not so proud to deny that I needed to change my knickers after that first encounter. The good news is that they're hardly immortal – they fall and die like anything else. Anyhow, I imagine Duncan wants to get this little party started, so let's head on over."

Walking alongside the friendly Junior Warden, Anlessa asked, "What was that argument about back there?"

He snorted. "The Circle of Magi is here at the King's command, and the Chantry doesn't like that _one bit_. They do not hesitate to let the mages know how unwelcome they are, which puts me in an awkward position, since I was once a Templar."

Anlessa blinked in disbelief. "_You_ were a mage hunter?"

"Not that that's all that Templars do, but… yes. I was raised by the Chantry as a Templar until Duncan recruited me six months ago. Normally, I wouldn't have agreed to relay that kind of message, but Duncan say we're all to cooperate and get along." He grinned. "I guess they didn't get that same speech."

Anlessa smirked. "Perhaps Duncan thought the speech to be especially useful for you. You certainly appeared to be enjoying yourself back there."

Alistair nimbly dodged an elven servant who was carrying an armful of leather armor across the bustling courtyard, and he pranced backwards, grinning in her direction. "I admit to nothing! You'll never get me to squeal!" Waiting for her to catch up to him, he nodded ahead at a towering bonfire. "Looks like Jory and Daveth are ready with Duncan… and a Mabari? When did Duncan get a dog?"

Anlessa laughed and released a piercing whistle, and her hound jumped up and bounded over to her side. Crouching down, Anlessa gave the dog a mighty bear hug, cooing over her friend and covering him with kisses as Alistair chuckled and walked over to Duncan. Daveth and Jory stood off to the side and Anlessa could just hear the rogue murmur, "Lucky mutt."

Seeing the two youths approach, Duncan nodded. "I see you've found Alistair. Good. This means we can begin with the preparations." Turning his most stern paternal gaze on the Junior Warden, he continued, "… that is, if you're quite finished riling up the mages, Alistair."

Alistair shrugged innocently. "What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should put her in the army."

Duncan frowned. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair's ears turned pink as he blushed with shame. "You're right, Duncan. I apologize. It won't happen again."

The elder Warden nodded, satisfied with the response. He turned back to his recruits, saying, "Now then, since you're all here, we can begin. You four will be going into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first task is to obtain three vials of Darkspawn blood – one for each recruit." With this, he handed a small leather satchel to Alistair, who nodded and took it without question.

Ser Jory looked puzzled. "What are the vials of blood for?"

Duncan nodded to Jory in acknowledgement, responding, "They are for the Joining ritual itself. I will explain more once you have returned with the vials."

"But surely you've collected blood before now, yes?" Daveth queried.

The elder Warden smiled. "Of course. However, the act of collecting the blood as well as confronting and defeating the darkspawn are all parts of your test. You must work _together_ to collect the necessary components for your Joining. The second part of your test today is to retrieve some artifacts for us. It has come to our attention that an ancient Grey Warden archive was located in the Wilds, and was abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. Some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them."

Turning again to the Junior Warden, Duncan continued, "Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls, if you can."

Anlessa asked, "What kind of scrolls are we looking for? What if they're no longer there?"

"Old Treaties, if you're curious. Promises that were made long ago to support the Grey Wardens in times of need. They were once only formalities. Given that so many have forgotten those promises today, I thought it would be good to have these handy. The scrolls should still be there – the magical seals should protect them against destruction and theft, as only a Grey Warden is able to open them."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. If these scrolls are so valuable, why just leave them behind?"

Duncan sighed and nodded. "It was assumed that we would return to manage the archives. A great many things were assumed that have not come to be."

The Junior Warden nodded. "Any questions, recruits?"

Jory and Daveth were silent and shrugged as Anlessa looked their way. Turning back to nod at Duncan and Alistair, she responded, "A handful of scrolls and three vials of blood. Understood."

Duncan nodded. "Good." Nodding to Alistair, he added, "Take care of your charges, Alistair. Return to me quickly and safely."

"We will."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return."

Alistair bounced forward, herding the recruits towards the Northern exit of the camp. "Okay, kids, you heard the man. Let's get into those Wilds and find us some scrolls. The sooner you get this done, the better – trust me."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir hunched over tables of intricately detailed maps of Ostagar and its surrounding swamplands as he considered the battle of the coming day. He sighed heavily, his mind's eye watching phantom movements on the map – a wall of fire raining upon the enemy, the two massive armies clashing at the base of the ruin. He'd seen this before – they'd re-enacted similar battles in the past two weeks with tremendous success. Tomorrow should be no different, he surmised. Their army size hadn't changed by much – two smaller Bannorn had sent what men that they could, plus Highever's militia. This was easily enough to cover the casualties of the last two battles. However, the darkspawn army had been increasing exponentially, as if it were testing its boundaries to see where the breaking point lay. Loghain's eyes narrowed as his index finger delicately traced an outline of a scouted area no more than 15 minutes away in a forced march – an enclosed valley, small enough to be unnoticeable, sheltered enough to be hidden away, close enough to be of use and just large enough to house about five thousand able-bodied men ready to do his bidding.

_That_ was where the breaking point would lay – in wait, and with a taste for tainted blood.

Here is where Loghain's talents shone clear – hard-won skills honed through years of trials and tribulations starting from his youth when he and Maric held no title other than "Rebel," when the enemies wore the finery of Orlesian silks and armor and stole not only the lives of loved ones, but the livelihoods of entire communities. His fist clenched as studied the map further: setting the topography to memory; identifying vulnerabilities; predicting challenges. He was comfortable here – there was a certain power to planning out a battle strategy. It turned a strategist into a fortune teller and a great General into a god among men.

The sharp click of his guards' heels outside alerted Loghain to the King's imminent arrival. Straightening, he watched the opening of his tent as Cailan entered, his countenance bright and hopeful, followed immediately by Duncan's subdued and alert presence. Loghain eyed Duncan briefly before nodding to Cailan in greeting.

"Cailan, I see you've received my message," he began.

"_More_ planning, Loghain?" Cailan sighed in exasperation. "I'm looking forward to this all being over, just so I can be spared more poring over these terribly boring maps."

Loghain glared, already impatient. "As King, it is your responsibility to oversee these plans. The fate of thousands rests in your hands, Cailan."

Cailan waved his hand in dismissal, "…and as my father-in-law, it's your responsibility to ensure I never get a moment's peace. I understand completely, Loghain. Let's just get on with it."

The older man shook his head at the impetuous youth before him and turned his attention back to the map, rehashing a strategy that he'd had planned days ago. Duncan stepped forward at Cailan's encouragement to listen in, and the three of them studied the landscape together. "The bulk of the army will wait here, in the valley beneath Ostagar, and will await the horde's approach. You will draw them to you, and they will leave their rear flank open for attack."

With the light of impending battle glistening in his eyes, Cailan continued, "You will bring your troops from Gwaren around and attack from the rear at our signal to approach, and between the two of us, we'll have the fiends boxed in and helpless." Cailan grinned, looking up at Loghain's sullen visage. "They will be slaughtered, wholly. My men and I will be victorious, and then we shall return to camp and enjoy some ale."

Loghain shook his head in protest. "You will be waiting near the summit of the fort, directing the battle from above, Cailan."

The young man scowled. "Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand with the Grey Wardens in this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan – the bulk of the darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

Duncan cleared his throat politely, causing the two nobles to look over at him. "I beg your pardon, Teyrn Loghain, but how will you see any signal from the battlefield from that far away? The vegetation is thick in these wilds, and there's no chance of seeing into this valley from that kind of a distance."

"Two of my men will stay behind," Loghain replied, straightening up and regarding Duncan with guarded respect. "It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital. Cailan will release the signal from the battlefield, and my men will be watching for it from the top of the Tower of Ishal. They shall light a beacon from there that can be seen from miles away. At that signal, we will rush in and close them in from the rear."

Cailan appeared deep in thought. "Your Majesty?" prompted Duncan.

The young man looked up to Loghain with consideration. "This is an important task. We should send nothing but our best to ensure it's handled properly." Turning to Duncan, he said, "We will send two of your Wardens up into the tower to watch for the signal, Duncan."

"You rely too much on these Wardens, Cailan! Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing. We must attend to _reality_." warned Loghain.

Cailan's annoyance with his next in command was palpable. "Then if you're at all worried about our success here, Loghain, perhaps you'd prefer that we wait for the forces from Redcliffe arrive, along with the Wardens and Cavaliers that have been promised from Orlais?"

Loghain turned red at this, "I will not have my men fighting alongside those Orlesian scum! I'll see them die first! How fortunate it is that Maric did not have to live to see his son so ready to hand Ferelden over to those who had enslaved us for over half a century."

"Then, our current plans and forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailian turned to Duncan with a wry grin, "It is settled, then. We are sending two Wardens into the tower to light the signal fire. Perhaps some of your newer recruits?"

Duncan considered this carefully, avoiding Loghain's burning gaze. "Perhaps, Sire, we can send Alistair and one of the new recruits?"

Cailan considered this briefly, his lips pursed. He nodded. "Excellent suggestion."

Loghain sighed. "It is settled, then. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you, Loghain," nodded the King. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

Loghain merely shook his head behind Cailan, unnoticed by the idealist before him.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

The Wilds do indeed carry a wicked tradition in Ferelden lore – capable of sheltering refugees just as they are of destroying intruders. Anlessa knew some of the lore from stories that her Nan would tell her as a child, and brutal histories that she'd learned from Fergus (half of which she'd hoped was not true). She knew of the Chasind, a barbarian tribe that lived in the swamp, scavenging the land for flesh and fruit alike. She knew from these tales that there were rumors that the Chasind would eat the flesh of their dead, as well as the flesh of their vanquished. Ferelden lore also suggested that it was the Wilds that opened her bosom to the Rebel Queen's son, Maric and sheltered him from the Orlesians who were sent to take his head. Strange and feral, beautiful and twisted, the Wilds stretched before the party in a welcome that suggested to Anlessa that it was daring them to step forward and into its dark embrace.

Anlessa stepped forth, guiding her companions into the swamp and noting that the light suggested they had mere hours to complete their quest. The noise of the encampment – barking Mabari, the hammer of the blacksmith, the clash of sparring swords and the din of a tremendous military presence – faded away to nothing as they proceeded down a path that had obviously been trod by scouts and caravans many times in the past. The party descended into the thick of the swamp, their boots sloshing as the muck sucked at their soles. At the bottom of the hill, they encountered more Tevinter ruins – columns suggesting a kind of aqueduct traveling through the Wilds, long since destroyed. Beneath them, a ruined caravan with goods scattered and destroyed, and the broken bodies of a military escort lying in pools of their own blood.

"Over here… please. Help me."

A lone bloody armored figure crawled haltingly past the corpses of its comrades toward the sound of their footsteps, and Anlessa ran forward to lend aid. Kneeling down, she saw immediately that the soldier was very young, and very badly wounded. Dark circles were visible under his eyes and his breathing was ragged.

"Grey Wardens…? The darkspawn… came up from the ground… overwhelmed…"

"Shhh…" Anlessa touched his forehead with her naked wrist and looked back up to her group. "He's feverish. We need to take him back to camp."

"No. Please, if… if you could just bandage me up, it's not far. I can make it on my own."

Alistair nodded and knelt next to the recruit. "I have some bandages on me. Give me a hand."

Within minutes, the guard was stripped of his breastplate and long strips of fabric wrapped tightly to staunch any further blood flow. The youth was lucky, despite his weakened state – none of the wounds appeared to be fatal, given proper treatment and healing magic. With some water and a bit of bread, his strength seemed to return. Ser Jory reached down to help the man to his feet.

"I thank you, all of you. Now, I have to get out of here, before they return."

Jory watched the man limp away, cradling his wounded abdomen in his arms. "Did you hear that?" he murmured. "A group of finely trained men overcome by those fiends." His face flushed red with worry. "What kind of chance do we four stand out here, when seasoned soldiers were slaughtered like cattle? These Wilds are filled with darkspawn. This is a death sentence."

Alistair rose, brushing his hands off and looking at Jory pointedly. "We are in no serious danger here. Yes, there are darkspawn in the Wilds, but we are nowhere near the bulk of the horde. As long as we are careful, we will be completely safe."

"How do you know this, Warden? I am no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should turn back."

Anlessa pressed her hand flat against the soft Earth, trying to picture the scene not long before they arrived – a group of well-trained scouts in a serene and silently dangerous swamp taken by surprise and slaughtered within minutes by a tunneling band of fiends. Jory's fear echoed in her heart, but she remembered Duncan leading her through the Wilds and his ability to steer them away from the roaming darkspawn. She stood and looked to Alistair with understanding.

"This is just another part of the test to overcome. Overcoming the danger, and overcoming our fear."

Jory looked at her skeptically and Alistair nodded with approval. "That's true… I suppose," Jory observed.

"Know this, Jory," Alistair said, "All Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn and their movements. Whatever their cunning, I can guarantee you that they won't take us by surprise." With a smile, he added, "That's why I'm here."

Daveth snorted. "You see, sir Knight – they may kill us, but at least we'll receive some warning first."

* * *

It wasn't long before that warning arrived. Delving deeper into the wilds, searching for more ruins that may hint at the Grey Wardens' prior archive, Alistair stopped suddenly, staring blankly ahead of them as if listening for something the others could not hear. He held his hand up in silence, motioning for the rest of the party to be still as his senses reached out around them to identify the location of the approaching creatures. His eyes narrowed into a scowl as he turned back towards his party, nodding and closing his hand into a tight fist. Quietly, each of them unsheathed their weapons and collapsed into a tight circle, their backs facing inward as they awaited the creatures' arrival.

Anlessa's Mabari growled low and deeply, punctuated with a fierce snarl that betrayed his fear. His hackles were raised and he looked around wildly, sensing the approaching danger but unable to identify its source. Anlessa cooed softly to him, providing what little reassurance she could as fear crawled up from the base of her spine. Everyone could feel the danger approaching, but none could see it.

Alistair whispered to his charges, "Be prepared for anything. Attack as you would any other foe. They _will_ fall before a blade as long as your fear does not overcome you."

She trembled as she waited, her palms sweaty as they grasped the hilts of the swords that freed her from her family's fate in Highever. She could feel Daveth's side pressed near to her right, trembling slightly in terrified anticipation, and could hear Jory's rapid breathing to her left. Only Alistair, who knew what was coming, stood firm and ready for the attack.

The soft, mossy ground of the marsh erupted around the small party and Anlessa had visions of corpses rising from the earth. As the creatures emerged, the fertile soil clung to their twisted flesh and primitive armor, clods of dirt dropping from them like a leper's rotting meat. The eyes of the creatures were red and black, and fixed upon the party members with abject hunger as they approached. The tallest of the creatures, about the size of a full-grown man, opened its mouth wide, its skeletal features in a wide, predatory grin as it loosed an unearthly roar and led the charge into the party.

Anlessa and Jory both screamed in fear at the onslaught, and grasped their weapons like lifelines. The party was surrounded by a dozen of the creatures, half of which were half their size – squat and corpulent creatures that lumbered towards them with dented swords, rusty maces and broken daggers. Alistair called out to his party, "Hold your position!"

Daveth was the first to let blood, having drawn an arrow with a trembling hand and, by the Maker's luck, burying it in the neck of one of the snorting shorter creatures. As the darkspawn fell onto its back, clutching the arrow and then dying with a violent tremor, Anlessa and Jory found their own nerve. It was true – they could be killed!

Anlessa was rushed by two of the taller of the darkspawn, and stepped forward into them with as much confidence as she could muster. A mantra repeated in her head – they can be killed just as any man, just as any man. The Cousland family sword darted out to her right, catching one of the creatures in its sword arm and rendering it lame as she parried a blow with an unwieldy mace to her left. Her mabari, seeing his mistress engage the enemy, rushed forward to one of the shorter creatures and overwhelmed it with a great leap, taking the wailing monstrosity by the neck and mauling with vigor.

"Maker...!" Jory exclaimed as his two-handed greatsword flew through the battle like a flashing beacon, cutting swaths through the tainted enemy. His face flushed with fear and adrenaline, he took on three of the creatures at once with wide arcs engaging them all equally. Daveth, having seen the majority of the creatures head towards the more active warriors in the party, set his bow down quietly and slipped away with daggers in hand, only to show up behind select creatures to deliver well-aimed backstabbing blows to where he could only guess the vital organs would be located.

Alistair did his best to keep an eye on each of his charges, encouraged by their willingness to engage the enemy despite the fear he knew they were experiencing. Keeping watch, however, grew particularly difficult once his attention was turned to a heavily armored darkspawn that appeared to single him out for combat. Shield and sword at the ready, Alistair regarded this creature – its armor was more finely made, and it wore a horned helm that hid its terrifying visage. He could hear it laughing from inside its helm, lending a kind of echoing eeriness to the encounter. It wielded a finely made greatsword, and swung the instrument lazily as it studied Alistair and approached.

"Let's GO!" Alistair shouted, running in with his shield leading the way. The weight of the greatsword came down upon it, and Alistair fell to one knee, buckling under the blow. He looked up into the helm of the creature above him, and saw the blood red eyes of the darkspawn looking down at him, smiling in its mocking laughter.

Anlessa saw Daveth dart around behind the pair of darkspawn she was whittling down and smiled in approval as he quickly dispatched each of them, his razor-sharp dagger flicking across their necks, causing them to fall back, their hands clutched to their throats. Daveth fell upon them, performing a coup de grace on each, and then taking out the mabari's struggling target as Anlessa moved on to a group of four archers that had been trying and failing to snipe the party at a distance, her mabari following close behind.

Jory gritted his teeth, growling in anger with each wide swing, his muscles screaming with effort. One of the smaller darkspawn darted forward, trying to catch him at the tail end of a swing, and found itself with Jory's large booted foot in its face. Kicking like a mule, Jory sent the darkspawn sailing to the side, where it lay stunned. "One down!" he cried, "Who's next?"

Alistair assessed the creature before him as they slowly circled each other, a deep and menacing cackle occasionally ringing from inside the horned helm. The creature stood just over Alistair's own height – a darkspawn he knew Duncan had once referred to as a "Hurlock" – a twisted version of a man, the tainted mind a shadow of the cleverness and skill that a normal man would possess. However, this creature before him moved and acted with intelligence that he'd not seen before. An Alpha, away from the main horde? Was that even possible?

Watching the creature, Alistair had a feel for its rhythm, its self assuredness, it movements. He saw its shoulder tense, and gripped his shield as a reflex, knowing a second ahead of time that the creature was about to raise its great broadsword high above its head to come crashing upon him. Alistair grinned.

Rolling to the side, Alistair narrowly missed the sharp edge of the creature's sword. Darting up on his knees, he thrust his sword up, catching the monster's side and driving it forward into its chest cavity. The darkspawn flung itself backwards and off of Alistair's keen blade, stumbling in pain and screaming in a high and piercing wail that caused its companions to stop and turn in what appeared to be horror. Alistair jumped up and in two long strides, made his way to the stumbling creature, and raised his blade high, driving it deep into the hurlock's breastplate.

The tide changed immediately. "Press them!" Anlessa cried, as the archers dropped their weapons and attempted to run. The hound ran one of them down, ravaging it mercilessly and Anlessa caught another in the back as it ran for safety. Daveth and Jory together had taken down another handful before they'd gone too far. Looking at the carnage around her, Anlessa was first stunned, and then began to laugh. Her companions looked at her quizzically at first, but in watching her mirth as she collapsed on the ground, Daveth began to chuckle, followed by Alistair, and then by Jory.

The relief was palpable. The swamp, cold and imposing, seemed to open itself up to them life a welcoming lover, now that they'd proven themselves worthy of her embrace. Strewn around them, ten bleeding darkspawn bodies lay in wait for the swamp and its denizens to take them back into the earth. Anlessa rose and called her hound off of his kill, and hugged him tightly, showering him with well deserved praise. The small party gathered together to look at the carnage.

"Ten out of twelve isn't bad," Daveth noted.

"Those… _creatures_ are horrifying." Jory added, still a bit pale from the encounter.

"At least they're dead," Anlessa retorted.

Alistair stood before the three of them, the smile wide on his face. "All three of you did splendidly. This is the kind of teamwork and quick thinking that will keep you and your fellow Wardens alive on the battlefield. And now, for your reward…"

He removed three glass phylacteries from inside the leather satchel, and gently handed one over to each of his charges. "Take these vials, and fill them with the blood of the fallen creatures. When this is done, return them to me."

Each recruit then chose a corpse and proceeded to drain it into the vial to the best of their ability. Anlessa grimaced – the creatures reeked of death and decay in the first place, and the bloodletting didn't improve the smell at all.

Anlessa returned her vial first with a wrinkle of distaste in her nose. "Come," she said, "Let's find these archives and get back to camp so we can wash this filth off of us."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter X**

The group traveled through the murk and the damp of the swamp, and Anlessa had given up shortly after their encounter with the darkspawn scouts the hope of reclaiming the feeling in her feet. Instead, she was hoping that by the time they'd returned to camp, she'd find that she'd not been frostbitten. Despite the cold, sweat clung to her skin beneath the scale and leather that protected her body – their forced march through the Wilds in search of the archives was proving to be taxing after the exertion of battle, and she could see the weariness on Daveth and Jory's faces, although Alistair's eyes still shone bright and his body language betrayed no sign of exhaustion or even fatigue. Constantly, his brown eyes would dart towards the setting sun, keeping his group on a path to the Northwest, where Duncan had suggested they seek out the ruins.

"It can't be much further now," he noted, part in hope and part in frustration. "Duncan said it couldn't be more than a couple hours of travel from Ostagar, so keep an eye out for anything unusual."

A titter in the distance answered his statement, and the party halted, each of them reflexively scanning the darkening swamp, hands on the handles of their weapons. Anlessa looked to Alistair, the question obvious in her eyes. He shook his head in response. "There are no darkspawn nearby."

Daveth moaned in a fearful response. "Barbarians… witches…"

Anlessa put her arm around his shoulders reassuringly even as she continued to scan the twisted trees and what could be seen in the distance. "I suggest we hurry, to minimize the amount of time we spend here in the dark."

Jory scowled. "We should have brought lanterns, or at least a torch."

Alistair shook his head and motioned the group forward, moving at a faster pace. "Light will only make it worse. It's a beacon for problems out here. If anyone from the camp needs to travel at night, they're always advised to do so by the light of the moon alone. Come. We can't be far, but keep your wits about you."

* * *

The group searched for another 20 minutes before the unmistakable white stone visage of Tevinter architecture rose above the gnarled vegetation before them.

"This is it!" Alistair proclaimed, bounding up the steps to the ruined tower. Stepping inside, his youthful excitement dampened considerably. "Or, at least… this _was_ it."

The interior of the tower was destroyed. Anything that could have been salvaged by the natives had obviously already been claimed, and the rising tower itself had collapsed completely into rubble, leaving nothing behind jagged stone and centuries-old dust. The Hall that they stood in was growing dark in the dwindling daylight, and the group looked around, uncertain of what to do next.

"Let's look around," Anlessa decided. "Duncan said the scrolls were magically protected, so it's unlikely that they could have been carried off. If we're lucky, they may still be here."

Alistair nodded in agreement. "Jory, you and Anlessa head to the East wing, and Daveth and I will head West. Shout out if you find anything, or if you encounter any trouble."

The group split accordingly, heading into the dimly lit wings of the tower's base, the open and decimated walls providing their only source of light. Daveth turned to Alistair as they scrutinized the rubble around them. "We're being watched," he murmured in confidence.

Alistair frowned with worry and nodded. He had noticed this, too.

Jory and Anlessa headed East with her hound, who had been commanded to help with the search mission and was jubilantly bounding from pile to pile of rotted papers and gravel to fulfill his duty. Anlessa noticed a glint at the end of the hall and touched Jory's shoulder softly to get his attention. Pointing ahead, she looked up to catch his eye. He pursed his lips and nodded – this may be what they were looking for.

When they approached, the glint of gold was revealed to be the remains of an ornate chest, once gilded and sealed with the image of a rearing griffon in gold and blue. Calling her hound over, she commanded him to go find Alistair and Daveth and bring them back. He barked once in acknowledgement and then ran off to locate the rest of their party.

"This has to be it," she whispered to Jory, her cold fingers running over the intricate carvings. "… but there's nothing left."

Alistair and Daveth arrived to see Jory and Anlessa carefully setting aside large pieces of the chest, hoping to find some trace of the treaties buried beneath.

"Is that it?" Alistair asked.

"I think so," Anlessa answered, "Only, it's empty. Something has destroyed whatever magical seal was placed on the chest. There's no sign of the scrolls."

Alistair stood behind her, looking at the shattered gilded chest in obvious irritation, his hand scratching the back of his head as he considered the consequences of this. He cursed under his breath. "Duncan isn't going to like this at all. Damn it."

"Well, well. What have we, here?"

A dark and feminine voice rung out inside the ruin, and the party looked around in surprise. Anlessa stood from the ruined chest and backed up into her party, who had formed a tight circle, weapons at the ready. There was no one to be seen, but a feminine chuckle echoed in the empty hall.

"Yes, do be sure to keep a tight grip on those lovely little weapons of yours. We'd not want anything unfortunate to happen in these dangerous lands, would we?"

Daveth was trembling and pale, his knuckles white as he gripped his daggers like a drowning man clutches driftwood. Anlessa's eyes narrowed. "Show yourself!"

"All in good time," replied the voice, now ringing out from the darkness of the ceiling. Anlessa could hear a skittering above her head, and fear crawled up her spine. "But first, I must determine why you are here."

"What business is it of yours?" Alistair spat. "This ruin does not belong to you."

"Ah, this is true," the voice admitted, and Anlessa could now make out two bright yellow eyes from the shadows high atop a mound of rubble. "However, the same could be said for you, stranger."

She stood tall, revealing herself in the fading sunlight, her tall and pale form adorned so sparsely that Anlessa found herself blushing in embarrassment for the woman. Stepping forward in pride and curiosity, the oddity regarded the group that faced her with the countenance of a scholar studying something new and unheard of.

"Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones have long since been cleaned? Or, merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" The woman hopped atop a decrepit pillar and then stood tall, looking out towards the setting sun, her back mostly towards the group of Warden recruits, yet Anlessa was keenly aware that every moment of theirs was being tracked. Still facing the setting sun and the wilds below, the woman continued, "What is it, then? Scavenger, or intruder?"

Anlessa stepped forward as the men looked upon the woman in trepidation, and found herself speaking for the group. "We are neither," she countered. "This tower belongs to the Grey Wardens."

The woman opened her arms wide and chuckled. "This is a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched _your_ progress for quite some time." She cocked her head and scrutinized Anlessa directly, frowning in puzzlement. "'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now, you disturb ashes that have not been touched in so long... why is that?"

Alistair stepped up behind Anlessa and murmured in her ear. "Don't answer that. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

The woman laughed. "You fear barbarians will _swoop_ down upon you?"

He glared in response. "Yes. Swooping is bad."

Daveth obviously disagreed with Alistair's assessment. "She's not Chasind – that's a Witch of the Wilds, it is!" he exclaimed, covering his face in fear. "She's going to turn us all into toads!"

The dark woman smirked. "'Witch of the Wilds'? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" Turning her piercing yellow eyes back to Anlessa, she asked, "You there – women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

Anlessa heard Alistair make a low sound of protest in the back of his throat, and felt his hand on her arm. Looking back, she saw him shaking his head at her in fear. Shrugging off his grasp, Anlessa looked back to the odd woman in front of her. Her hair was black and tied into a messy bun atop her head, and the rags of her clothing suggested that the revealing ensemble of leather and silk may have been patched together from what was once finely made clothing. She was decorated as her brother had once described the Chasind – bits of bone, stone and feather arranged artfully about her hair, neck and breasts. Her dress of dark leather and furs suggested primitive origins, but her eyes were unlike any she'd ever seen before – amber-colored animal eyes that shone with intelligence, amusement, and challenge. Anlessa did not doubt that the men's fear was justified. Power shone from her like a beacon, and the confidence with which she strode suggested that the four heavily armed warriors before her posed no challenge whatsoever.

Anlessa looked down from the Wilds woman to look at her Mabari. He was panting contentedly and showed no sign of distress while looking up at the newcomer. She smiled.

Stepping forward, Anlessa sheathed her blades and reached a gloved hand up to the stranger in greeting. "I am Anlessa of Highever, and of the Grey Wardens. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

The woman smiled genuinely, nodding in approval, and hopped from her perch near the ruined tower windows. She grasped Anlessa's hand in return and nodded. "Manners. Such a rarity, especially in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She stood back with her hands on her hips and examined the party in front of her. "Might I guess why you are here, then? You sought something in that chest – perhaps something that is here no longer?"

Alistair sputtered, "Here no longer? You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of… sneaky… _witch-thief!_"

She smirked in response. "How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men, I wonder?"

He pouted, "Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest that you return them."

Scowling, Morrigan countered, "I will _not_ 'return them,' for it was not _I_ who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you must, but I am not threatened."

Anlessa saw Alistair's face redden as he grew angrier and held up her hand to keep him from saying anything they might regret later. Turning to Morrigan, she asked, "Can you tell us where to find them or who removed them, so we might track them down?"

Morrigan cocked an eyebrow and responded, "It was my mother, in fact. If you wish, I could take you to her. It is not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

It was Ser Jory who asked, "Your… mother?"

The wilds woman turned her back to the party and walked back to the edge of the ruins, looking out towards the setting sun and its soft glow on the tops of the twisted swamp trees below. She smiled. "You say that as if you're surprised – did you think I sprouted from a fallen log? Not everything in these Wilds is dangerous and terrible." Turning back towards the party, she added, "Flowers grow just as surely as the thorns in these lands."

Anlessa turned back to Alistair and the two men who were cowering behind him. She shrugged. "I say we go with her. It sounds like the scrolls are still preserved."

Daveth muttered in protest as he cowered behind Alistair's back, "She'll put us all in a pot, she will…"

Jory scowled. "If the pot is any warmer than this forest, it will be a welcome change. Lead on."

Morrigan smiled and nodded. "Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

* * *

The group traveled East from the ruins, through thickets of swamp that Anlessa would have assumed were impassable if it weren't for the expert guide that was showing them the way. As the men trailed behind in a tight group, Anlessa and her Mabari walked next to Morrigan whenever possible.

"Morrigan, may I ask you a personal question?"

Her eyebrow cocked as she turned her head to Anlessa. "This should be interesting."

"Are you really a 'Witch of the Wilds'?"

Morrigan chuckled and shook her head. "Some may call us that, it's true. 'Witch' is a term borne out of naught but fear and superstition."

Alistair called out from behind them, "You are familiar with the Circle of Magi, then. You know that the Chantry does not permit the solitary practice of magic."

Morrigan stopped the party and turned to Alistair, crossing her arms. "You may inform your Chantry of us, if you wish. Neither my mother nor I have anything to fear from your _priests_."

Alistair sighed and shook his head, shoulders dropping in defeat. "Apostates. We're voluntarily walking into an unholy den of apostates."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI**

The apostate led the group through an area of the swamp uncharacteristically thick with undergrowth – so much so that there were times in which no more than one of them could pass through at once, causing Daveth no shortage of fear. Anlessa, having been given no reason to distrust their guide, still found that this part of the swamp was uncomfortably silent, as if even the winter's winds were afraid to intrude here. The trees – tall, bare and spindly – seemed to loom over them, their branches outstretched to catch any straggler in their wooden talons and hang them at a moment's notice. At length, long after the sun had set and plunged the cold murk into darkness, they came upon a clearing that featured no more than a plot of land and a rickety hut patched together with mud, straw and sticks.

"Home, sweet home," noted Morrigan as they approached a wizened woman who stood patiently near the cottage's door. "Greetings, Mother. I bring to you four Grey Wardens, who – "

"I see them, girl. Much as I had expected."

The woman stepped forward, into the low light of a nearby lantern as she looked at each of the four in turn. Her grey hair hung loose and ragged around a thin face. Her eyes, sunken yet bright as the moon itself, assessed the Warden and recruits before her, their violet sheen absorbing more than their mere appearances. Yet, her countenance was thoroughly unobtrusive – any traveler who had happened upon the cottage would have assumed an elderly and harmless spinster to be looking upon them. However, Morrigan's veiled admission of their status as apostates gave Anlessa pause. In as much as Morrigan flashed her power as a bright jewel through her beauty and confidence, this woman's subdued appearance and demeanor made the young Cousland quite nervous. Exactly how much power would a "Witch of the Wilds" need to hold before she could get away with pretending she had none at all?

Alistair, seemingly forgetting his earlier trepidation of walking into a den of apostates, laughed at Morrigan's mother. "Are we to believe that you were _expecting_ us?"

The woman smiled. "You are required to do nothing, least of all _believe_. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's eyes wide, either way – one's a fool."

Alistair stopped to think about this, the smile dying from his face. Turning to Jory, he whispered, "… did she just call me stupid?"

Daveth, doing his best to hide at the back of the group, muttered angrily, "She's a witch, I tell you. We shouldn't be talking to her!" Jory responded by kicking him in the shin as discretely as possible, whispering back, "Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

The elder witch smiled warmly at Jory. "There's a smart lad, but he's sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things. But, it is not I who decides – believe what you will." Her violet eyes turned, seemingly independent of the rest of her body, and rested carefully on Anlessa. "…but what of you, child? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? What do _you_ believe?"

Anlessa swallowed uncertainly, and found that it wouldn't take much at all to get lost in those violet orbs, if the woman had wished it so. Her voice, her gaze, was all so hypnotic – was she the only one affected here? Anlessa cast her eyes away, blushing in uncertainty. "I… I am not sure what to believe."

"Wise girl," she smiled in approval, turning her piercing gaze away and looking up into the clear night sky, watching the stars as if she was reading a book. "So much about you is uncertain, girl… and yet I believe – _do I?_" She laughed,_ "_Why, yes. It seems I do."

She could hear Alistair's chuckle behind her. "Soooo… _this_ is a dreaded 'Witch of the Wilds.'"

"Witch of the Wilds!" a hearty cackle issued from the woman's throat. "Haha! Morrigan must have told you that – she fancies such tales, though she would never admit to it. Oh, how she loves to dance under the moon…"

Morrigan hung her head in her hand to fight the blush that was threatening to creep onto her face and sighed, "They did not come here to hear your wild tales, Mother."

"No! Of course not. They came for their treaties, yes? Well, before you begin barking, your precious 'seal' wore off long ago. I have kept them protected here ever since." Reaching into a bag that had been kept by the front door, she pulled out four small scrolls and held them out to the group.

Alistair stepped forward, taking the ancient documents in his hands gently. "You… protected them?"

She scowled. "…and why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens, and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

Anlessa puzzled at this, knowing that the Wardens already believed the Archdemon was active and leading the incursions. "What do you mean?"

The old witch smirked, "Either the threat is more, or they realize less… or perhaps the threat is nothing, or they realize nothing!" With this, she burst into mirthful glee as the Wardens were left to look at each other in confusion.

Catching her breath, she continued, "Never mind me – you have what you came for."

Morrigan appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Time for you to go, then."

"Don't be ridiculous, Morrigan. These are your _guests_."

The younger apostate sighed wearily. "Very well, then. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

The men eagerly followed Morrigan, obviously ready to leave the witches and the swamp behind. Anlessa delayed but a moment, casting her gaze back to fall on the elder witch, who was watching her carefully.

"Thank you, madam," she said, uncertain of what else to say.

"Bah. Do not thank me yet, young one. Hurry on, now. I'd hate for you to be late to Destiny's call." With that, she turned and made her way back to the cottage entrance, slamming the door shut behind her.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

Night had fallen by the time the group had returned to the heavy wooden gates that separated Ostagar from the wilds. Morrigan had excused herself once the light of the camp's bonfires had become visible, knowing that exposing herself to the rest of the militia at the fort would also further expose her shared secret with her Mother, and potentially invite queries from the Chantry and their devoted Templars. Anlessa turned to thank the young woman for her assistance in showing the Wardens back to the camp, but found that there was no one behind them, yet she thought she could hear the howl of a wolf echoing off the trees in the distance.

Alistair approached the gates with the Treaties and samples of darkspawn blood in hand, and called out to the guards on the other side to grant them entry. The gate opened with a groan, and the Wardens entered, walking silently to the bonfire where Duncan patiently waited.

A plaintive whine from behind her drew Anlessa's attention, and she saw her mabari stumble drunkenly and begin coughing as if he were trying to make himself sick. She had seen him sick before after having indulged in spoiled meat, but this time it appeared as if he was completely disoriented. She turned and dropped to her knees next to the hound, hands exploring his head and neck for any signs of injury.

"He's burning up." He looked up at her fellow recruits and her eyes betrayed her voice, which she was forcing to remain calm. "He's feverish. He was fine just a bit ago, and there's no injury here worse than what he's had before."

Alistair frowned, his eyes narrowing as he crouched down to get a closer look at the mabari. "Fever can be a sign of ingesting the taint. It looks like your friend may have bitten off more than he could chew out there. Let's take him to the Ash Warriors – their mabari have encountered the darkspawn before, maybe they know what you can do."

The mabari proved unwilling to move an inch, and Anlessa was prompted to take the massive creature in her own arms. Ser Jory stepped in readily, supporting the hound's hindquarters as they rushed to the Ash Warriors' camp.

"Someone help, please!"

Anlessa and Jory hurried into the Ash Warriors' section of the camp and found themselves regarded with distain, and largely ignored by those warriors who were tending to their own hounds or sparring to keep their skills sharp and ready.

Daveth touched Anlessa's shoulder gently, pointing to a section of the camp with chest-high fencing. "Their pens are over here. I'll find the hounds master."

Anlessa found an empty pen with a clean bed of straw, and she and Ser Jory laid the ailing mabari there as gently as possible. Daveth was back quickly, a reluctant warrior following behind him. The man's countenance changed when he saw her kneeling next to the whining mabari, who had begun a keening, plaintive whine.

The Hounds Master frowned. "Darkspawn disease. I figured that's what you were shouting about. Here." He tossed Anlessa some interwoven straps and gestured towards the mabari. "It's a muzzle. Get that thing on him if you want us to be able to help him. We can't get near these hounds once they've been sickened – we'll get it just as surely if they end up biting us in confusion."

Jory stood up quickly with that and backed away from the dog, making his way to the pen's door. Anlessa looked up with confusion. "You're not worried about us getting bit?"

He snorted in response. "You're Grey Wardens, aren't you? Everyone knows you're immune to the sickness. Get that on him, and I'll be by once we finish up the tonic. We have two others suffering through this now, and just lost another last night."

Anlessa watched him walk away and then frowned at the contraption in her hands. She sighed and leaned down to whisper in the hound's ear. "I promise this is temporary, my sweet boy. They're going to try to make you feel better." There was little resistance from the mabari as she slipped the muzzle over his head and secured it, as he was too distracted by the pain to notice this additional inconvenience. She continued to pet his flank, which was growing increasingly hot to the touch.

"Anlessa, we need to get back to Duncan." Alistair's voice was compassionate, but firm. She nodded, reluctantly, and leaned down to place her lips on the hound's warm brow. "I'll be back. Soon."

Duncan had been waiting with increasing impatience as twilight had stretched across the sky, and was obviously eager to see them arrive. "You return," he observed, "I trust your mission was a success?"

Anlessa noted that none of her fellow Wardens appeared interested in speaking for the group, so she stepped forward and gestured to Alistair to have him hand over the items. "It was, Duncan. The tower is lost to the wilds, but two apostates had been keeping the scrolls safe and handed them over to us."

Duncan raised an eyebrow at the additional information, but if he was concerned, he made no comment. "Then, we must waste no time. I will take these samples to the Circle immediately, so they may complete the preparations." Looking to the new recruits, Duncan noted with particular severity, "I will not lie. We Wardens pay a heavy price for our ability to combat the darkspawn. Fate may dictate that you pay your price now at the Joining, rather than later."

Anlessa looked over to Daveth and Jory, who watched Duncan with rapt attention, and she noticed Jory's stance stiffen at this. Anlessa glared at Duncan, the bile rising in her throat, now realizing that if the Joining proved fatal that the entire Cousland family line may be condemned. "And if we have second thoughts?"

Duncan's gaze fell onto the girl, knowing the unspoken doubts behind her question. He shook his head, replying, "Make no mistake – none of you are volunteers. Whether you were conscripted or recruited, there is no turning back. However, know that I would not have recruited any of you if I thought you did not have a chance to survive the process."

Scowling in disapproval, Anlessa spat, "Then let's proceed. I'm eager to see this finished."

Jory, who had grown a bit paler with this revelation, agreed. "Yes, let's get this done with."

Duncan nodded. "Alistair, I'll ask you to secure the treaties for now, and to take our recruits to the old Temple. Do not allow the treaties to leave your possession. I'll deliver the vials to our magi, and will join you shortly."

Alistair bowed slightly to his elder, responding with, "As you wish, Duncan." Motioning to the three recruits to follow, he walked off to the Eastern rise of the fort.

Anlessa noticed a cold air about the young warrior as they grew closer to the temple, despite his earlier jocularity. Distancing himself, she thought, and why not? She couldn't imagine it would be prudent to form true bonds with people who may end up dead within the hour. She scowled, listening to Jory and Daveth behind her discussing the Joining and Jory's fears of leaving his newly pregnant wife a widow before the battles even began. "Will you two _please_ shut up?" she snapped, "I swear I'm the bravest one here, and I'm a woman!" She noticed Alistair cast a glance her way and met his with a glare of her own, challenging him to voice any displeasure. Instead, he continued to lead them forward until they reached the ruined Temple.

Anlessa sat near the entrance to the open-aired temple and watched the other Wardens from across the space, Alistair deliberately restraining himself from joining in the conversation that Daveth and Jory were sharing. The scowl had not left her face since she'd learned the deadly secret of the Joining, and she found it suddenly difficult to feel any appreciation for Duncan's rescue that night in the castle. Were Duncan not there, perhaps she and her mother would have made it out through the servant's entrance, perhaps they'd have made it to Denerim on their horses and demanded justice immediately be meted out on the Arl of Amaranthine. If Duncan had not been there, perhaps – if she'd survived the escape from Highever – she'd have survived long enough to see Howe dance at the end of a noose. Now? She'd be lucky to witness the sunrise.

"Anlessa, will you join us?"

The girl looked up to see the bronzed Warden standing over her, a large and elaborately inscribed silver chalice in his hand. His voice was gentle and – dare she say it? – even fatherly, and the look in his eyes was one rich with compassion and apology. She sighed and stood, motioning for him to lead the way as she fell into reluctant step behind him. Duncan walked to the altar that Alistair and the other recruits had congregated near and set the chalice down delicately on the marble top. Turning back to his wards, he said, "At last, we come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight when humanity was on the brink of annihilation. So it was that the first of the Grey Wardens drank of the darkspawn blood, and mastered their Taint."

Ser Jory's face blanched immediately. "We… we're going to drink the blood of those… _creatures_?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Alistair added, "Those that survive the Joining are immune to the darkspawn's Taint. We then use it to sense darkspawn, and to kill the Archdemon."

Nodding solemnly, Duncan said, "We speak only a few words, but these have been said from the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair looked down, searching his memory for the correct words. With reverence, he spoke.

"_Join us, Brothers and Sisters.  
__Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant.  
__Join us as we carry the Duty that cannot be foresworn.  
__And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten,  
and that one day, we will join you."_

Duncan retrieved the chalice from the altar, and extended it to the rogue before him. "Daveth," he said, "step forward." Daveth obeyed, taking the chalice in both hands and hesitating only a moment before raising it to his lips and swallowing the dark concoction inside. He handed the chalice back to the elder Warden, who stepped back and waited.

The tainted blood reacted with Daveth's body within seconds. Anlessa and Jory both gasped and stepped back as they watched Daveth first struggle for breath, and then claw at his throat desperately. His eyes rolled back and mouth opened wide in a silent scream as he fell to his knees and a crawling black ichor snaked up underneath his armor, within his skin.

"Maker's Breath," Jory swore under his breath, drawing his sword slowly and backing away from the horrifying scene.

Duncan shook his head sadly as Daveth finally collapsed, face down, on the ground, his skin steadily turning black as coal, and withering to a leathery sheen. "I am sorry, Daveth." Turning then to the frightened Knight, he approached with the chalice. "Step forward, Ser Jory."

Jory's face belied the terror that had seized his mind as he shook his head and held his greatsword defensively in front of him, putting it between himself and Duncan. "But, I have a wife and child. Had I known…"

Countenance darkening, Duncan approached further with the chalice. "There is no turning back, Jory."

"No! You ask too much. There is no glory in this!"

Watching the madness growing in Jory's eyes, Duncan drew his blade. Seeing this, Anlessa stepped forward, crying, "Jory! Stop!"

Jory darted forward, sword flashing as he attempted to flee, but Duncan caught him and plunged his dagger deeply in the Knight's side as he threw the man back against the wall. Anlessa and Alistair both watched in horror as Jory's eyes rolled back into his head, and his body slid to the floor.

Anlessa looked to Alistair, who was obviously at a loss. Looking at the death before her, she felt Jory's fear gripping at her heart, as well. Duncan approached her slowly, saying, "But, the ritual is not yet complete. You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the greater good."

The youngest Cousland took the outstretched chalice from Duncan with trembling hands, and looked into the thick black mixture inside. She closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with her heart to the Maker and to her parents for strength. In her mind's eye, she saw Arl Howe at their dinner table, laughing with her mother and father just hours before his men would be loosed on her family, and his face was what she saw staring back at her in the chalice when she opened her eyes again. In her mind, she called out to the spirits of her fallen family, "For you, Mother, and you, Father… I will… I _must_ survive."

Anlessa drank deeply of the brackish, thick mixture, and the blood immediately set her mouth and throat on fire. She thrust the chalice toward Duncan before her hands flew to her neck, the pain that was spreading through her body becoming absolutely unbearable. She fell to her knees and gasped, screaming long and loud, her cries echoing ominously throughout the camp. Eyes rolling back into her head, she fell to the stone floor, mercifully slipping into darkness even as she heard Duncan's voice saying in relief, "Anlessa Cousland, from this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

* * *

Alistair was given the grim duty of wrapping Daveth and Ser Jory's bodies and carrying them into the area assigned to the Grey Wardens while Duncan disposed of the rest of the tainted blood and carried their newest Warden into the Wardens' campgrounds for the first time. One of the many preparations that Alistair had been responsible for in Duncan's time away was to prepare the funeral pyres at the far end of camp. It was tradition here to keep new recruits as far away from the main body of the Wardens until they'd completed their Joining – the hidden pyres being one of the reasons why. It was also tradition that the newer Wardens take their junior members of the Order under their wing, as apprentices of sorts. As a result, Alistair could not help but feel responsible for the deaths of the two men he had led through the Wilds.

One after the other, Alistair brought the bodies of the recruits back to the camp, unsurprised to find that there were wardens waiting for him to help undress and clean the corpses of those who paid their price at the Joining. Daveth's body was first, and the pain of his transformation was mirrored on the faces of the older Wardens who gently removed his armor and used fresh, clean water and scented oils to bathe and anoint him. With reverence, he was wrapped in clean white linens and found his rest upon the first pyre.

Jory's body was next, and Alistair noted that once the red stain was obvious, his corpse was treated with less respect. The elder of the two Wardens preparing him for the Maker scowled knowingly at the body, "A coward's death is no way to go, boy," as they cleaned the blood from his skin. Soon, he too was raised to his own pyre, and the wardens overseeing the ceremony looked to Alistair, the question unspoken but clear.

Alistair nodded slightly, "The third is recovering with Duncan. I imagine she should wake shortly."

The two elder wardens nodded and proceeded to light a long torch, using it to catch the tinder Alistair had so carefully placed within the pyres. Alistair stood back, watching the wood blacken and then glow, and he sighed. Only one of the fellow recruits at his Joining had fallen due to the Taint, and Alistair had watched the man change in horror – he had lasted longer than Daveth, but the result was a more pronounced transformation. His nails had grown into wicked claws, his eyes turned blood red as he shuddered his death rattle. When Alistair had awakened after the Joining and seen the pyres lit for himself, he had asked Duncan about it. Duncan explained that the fire was necessary to ensure the ingested taint does not spread into the ground, or to the local wildlife.

The Wardens from around the camp gathered to the pyres once they saw the fires lit, ash rising to the sky as linen and flesh alike caught in the blaze. Alistair listened as they joined in song together, voices solemn and strong, reverent and filled with gratitude, and he closed his eyes, remembering hearing the tune as he awakened from his own Joining.

"_One man rode to Hell's own gates,  
__With Demons at his rear.  
__He stood and faced the hordes alone,  
__Never showing fear!_

"_I-O! I-O! The Warden stands alone!  
__I-O! I-O! The Warden stands alone!"_

Nearly two dozen men stood around the pyres, singing in unison as they sent their bloodkin to their rest. Alistair felt his heart lightened as he joined his brothers-in-arms in song.

"_From wave to wave, he beat them back,  
__The days they passed to night.  
__The Warden never paused to rest,  
__He only sought the fight!_

"_I-O! I-O! The Warden fights alone!  
__I-O! I-O! The Warden fights alone!"_

Only Duncan stood back from the group, just outside of the mouth of a communal tent, where the newest Warden laid and battled her new and terrible dreams. Watching the ash rise into the dark sky, he sighed. Only one more Warden this time around. The battle began anew within the next day, and the King was refusing to listen to wisdom. There were not enough Wardens to combat the ever-growing darkspawn, especially if the Arch-demon did show itself. The Orlesian contingent was no more than a week's journey away on horse, but Cailan was pressing forward with all of the excitement of a child with a new toy. The fledgling King had obviously not inherited his father's foresight or wisdom… however, from what Maric had told Duncan decades earlier, that wisdom was hard earned and forged in the fires of strife. Cailan's life had been spent in luxury and education, and his ears filled with stories of his father's encounters with the Grey Wardens of legend, including Duncan himself.

"_Listen, boys, and hear me well –  
__The man who fell that night;  
__His soul still lives, and he rides with  
__His brothers, high in flight!_

"_I-O! I-O! The Griffons rise again!  
__I-O! I-O! The Griffons rise again!"_

Duncan watched the men smile at the end of the song that had been passed down from generation to generation of Wardens, and found his own heart lightened as he saw them slap each other on the back in a camaraderie that can only be known between those who have shed blood together, and those who know they share the same fate. Even Alistair had finally relaxed among his fellow Wardens, realizing that despite their mixed heritages, the common bond of surviving the Taint and having a common purpose was all that mattered. Duncan found himself smiling as he watched the young man tease his elders, and the playful mocking in return. The lad had come so far in the past two seasons, having finally found a home after two decades of being an outcast. Duncan had seen the boy's progress long before he'd conscripted him from the Grand Cleric and could see the promise of greatness in the youth's bearing, and in the loyalty of his heart.

Alistair looked over to see Duncan watching the group from afar, and bounded over to the elder, eager as a puppy. "How's she doing?" he asked.

"See for yourself," Duncan replied, opening the tent closure for Alistair to peer inside. She was still murmuring in her dreams, and the fever that signified the recruit's resistance to and mastery of the Taint had finally broken, leaving her hair drenched in sweat.

Alistair smiled and ducked inside the large tent, retrieving some ready supplies near the tent's entrance. Carefully setting these aside, he sat next to the newest Warden and dipped a clean linen cloth in a bucket of cool water, wringing it out carefully, and placed the cloth on the girl's forehead. "It won't be long, now," he said as Duncan entered the tent. Alistair remembered being a child in Redcliffe and seeing the nursemaids rush about prior to a birth, preparing the world for its newest arrival. He couldn't help but feel that same electricity in the air as his future sister-in-arms was fighting her way back from the Fade, soon to awake and emerge as one of the legendary Order.

Duncan sat to the other side of recruit, holding her limp hand in his and feeling her wrist for a pulse. The girl's movements grew a little more erratic, as if she was battling something insurmountable in her dreams, and Duncan felt her pulse quicken. Looking to Alistair, he made a gesture with his head towards an empty bucket lying nearby, and Alistair picked it up quickly. Anlessa's eyes flew open as she gasped audibly for breath, and lurched forward into a sitting position. Coughing violently, Alistair could see a sickness crawling across her face and he thrust the empty bucket into her hands as she retched miserably into the container, her bile as black and viscous as the mixture she'd consumed just hours before.

Duncan smiled at the girl with obvious pride as she set aside the bucket and gratefully took an offered cup of cool water from Alistair. "It is finished," he said. "How do you feel?"

She closed her eyes, willing her stomach to calm itself and breathed slowly before she replied, "I'm okay, I think. The pain – that was… unbelievable."

Duncan nodded solemnly. "Such is the price we pay for our ability to combat the darkspawn."

"Before I forget," said Alistair, "This is for you." He pressed a small ice-cold charm with a stylized dragon's head into her free hand. "It contains blood from the ritual, and is a reminder of our duty, and of those who didn't make it this far."

Anlessa was immediately reminded of the visage of Jory and Daveth's bodies lying before her as she gathered the courage to complete the Joining. She swallowed more water, relishing in its icy journey down her throat and into her stomach, and heard Alistair ask, "Did you have nightmares? I had _terrible_ dreams after my Joining."

Anlessa looked to Alistair, who appeared altogether too excited about all of this for her tastes, and nodded to him weakly. "Yes, the dreams were terrible, indeed." Taking another long drink of water again, she added, "Not nearly as terrible as the taste in my mouth, however. Please tell me this goes away."

Duncan laughed and clapped the girl on her back, rising to his feet as Alistair did the same. They both offered a hand to help her to her feet, which she gladly accepted. "All you need is a good meal, if you can keep it down."

As the three emerged from the tent, Anlessa looked around to find herself in a part of the camp that she hadn't seen previously. To her left, two large pyres burned brightly against the night sky, and around this part of the camp a number of soldiers were present performing a variety of tasks. However, once Duncan raised his hand to call their attention, every one of them stopped what they were doing and turned to watch her.

"Warriors of the Order of the Grey Wardens," Duncan called out, his voice ringing in the cold night air, "I present to you the newest member of the Ferelden Wardens – Anlessa, of Highever."

Anlessa was shocked at the noise a mere few dozen men could make in response to such a proclamation – a tremendous shout of joy and welcome as they raised their weapons in celebration and greeting. She looked at Alistair in shock, and he beamed at her in response, his own smile welcoming her into the fold. Despite all she'd been through and the pain she'd suffered in the past week, she felt her heart warmed and emboldened by the greeting. It had finally dawned on her that she survived, and was now the first of her family to have been successfully recruited into the legendary Order. Unable to restrain herself, she lifted a fist in triumph and joined her Order in its celebration, unleashing a war whoop of her own, much to Alistair and Duncan's delight. The men, all strangers but bearing a familiarity borne of the shared survival of the Joining, came to her one by one to clasp her arm and clap her on the back in gratitude, and in salutation.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII**

As they made their way through camp, Anlessa had commented to Duncan that she was shocked that the mess tent would even be open at such an hour. Duncan and Alistair grinned to each other before Duncan replied that, after the Joining, Wardens have a habit of keeping odd hours. Cailan had ensured that all camp facilities were available to the Wardens at all hours of the day, with no exceptions.

Once she had caught the first whiff of the mess tent, her stomach jumped and rumbled loud enough to make Alistair snicker. She could not believe how ravenous she was – judging by the placement of the stars, she imagined she'd hadn't been knocked out for more than six hours, yet it felt as if she'd not touched food in weeks. When they reached the mess area, she was grateful to see that there was no line, and the person manning the stewpot was ready for his next customer. Rushing to him, she grabbed a full loaf of the semi-stale bread that was sitting nearby and gratefully took the large bowl of steaming grey/brown stew that was handed to her, and found a seat on the ground.

Duncan and Alistair joined her shortly thereafter, sitting in a cross-legged circle as the three of them dove into their bland but hearty meals with similar zeal. Anlessa went back to the pot for more, and found Duncan and Alistair discussing the battle when she returned.

"What do you mean, I won't be on the field?" Alistair whined pitifully. "After all of this, I won't get to fight?"

Duncan shook his head firmly as Anlessa sat down with them. "It's by the King's orders, Alistair. We need reliable people to light the beacon."

"I belong down there with you, and the rest of the Grey Wardens!"

"Alistair, if the King wants two Grey Wardens to light the beacon, then two Grey Wardens will light the beacon. There's no discussing this."

Anlessa looked at Duncan curiously and asked with a cheek-full of half-eaten bread, "What's all this about? Alistair's not getting to fight?"

Alistair scowled, "You and I are to go to the top of the Tower of Ishal and wait for a signal so we can light the beacon that calls Loghain's flanking troops."

The girl nearly choked on a bit of unsodden crust in response. "What? Duncan, are you serious?"

Duncan sighed and shook his head as his two newest recruits looked at him in disbelief. "The plan is to draw the darkspawn horde into the valley at the foot of the fort. When we have them moved in, I will send the signal and the two of you will light the beacon. The Tower of Ishal stands at the top of the fort, and is visible for miles around – Teyrn Loghain will see the signal and give the command to move his army forward." Seeing doubt still in their eyes, he added with a hint of impatience, "If the beacon is not lit, Loghain does not move forward, and we will all fall to the horde. The two of you are the newest recruits we have here, so the task falls to you."

Anlessa swallowed a stew-soaked morsel of bread and replied, "But, the tower is inside the fort. Surely, this can't be a dangerous task. I can go alone, and you can let Alistair join you in the front lines."

"I like the way she thinks! Duncan, surely there's no need for two of us to go."

Duncan eyed Alistair pointedly as he replied, "The King has requested _two Grey Wardens _to see the beacon lit, and _two Grey Wardens_ will be going to the tower. There will be no further discussion of this."

Alistair snorted, obviously displeased. "Fine. But, just so you know, if the King commands that I wear a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line – darkspawn or no."

The girl smirked, "Way to take a stand, Alistair."

"I have my standards, thank you very much."

As Duncan shook his head in amusement, Anlessa stood, brushing the crumbs off of her legs and moved to return her bowl. "When does the battle begin, and where is my hound?"

Duncan looked out into the distance, getting a feel for the evening. "We likely have about five to six hours. Any preparations you need to make should be done now, while the camp is still active. Otherwise, I recommend getting some rest. The night will pass quickly, and you will need your strength for first light." He then nodded off to the Northern edge of the camp. "Your Mabari can still be found recuperating with the Ash Warriors. He's stayed penned there for his own protection while he works his way through his first encounter with the taint."

Anlessa nodded gravely, "I'll go check up on him, then take advantage of what opportunity we've been given to rest. I'll see you in camp before the night ends."

Duncan nodded assent and Alistair watched her until she was out of earshot. Turning to the elder Warden, he asked, "Did Cailan tell you to keep me out of the battle?"

Duncan pursed his lips and sighed. "No, Alistair. That was entirely my decision."

The young Warden pouted angrily. "We don't really need two Wardens at the top of that tower, Duncan. I know why you're keeping me away."

Duncan cocked an eyebrow and eyed Alistair. "There is no reason behind taking unnecessary risks. If you believe you know why you are responsible for lighting the beacon at the tower, then you should also know that I will not change my mind."

"That I do. Have it your way, then. Next time, however, I fight at your side."

The elder Warden chuckled and replied with a smile, "We'll see."


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV**

Ostagar was uneasy as night passed. Three prior battles against the fiends had led the King himself to be convinced of another night of triumph, but that did not soothe the minds of those who had survived the first battles and seen the horror of the darkspawn with their own eyes. Stoic warriors who knew naught but battle through their adult years sat up and stared into the distance, their minds haunted by the tainted, rotting flesh that had rushed them at the outpost thrice before. Young boys with barely a hair on their chin wept quietly and alone in their tents at the prospect of seeing the demons face to face yet again. In the wee hours of the morning, long before daylight would break, the camp was still with contemplation, and few found the ability to sleep.

The Ash Warrior camp was lively when she arrived, each of the battle beasts' warpaint freshly applied and the hounds in their pens clamoring over each other for attention as she walked by. The warriors themselves were either attending to their bonded beasts or using a variety of implements to improve the power or damage of their weapons prior to heading down to the valley below. At the far end of the camp, she found her dear mabari huddled in a corner of his pen, curled into a ball with his muzzled snout firmly placed beneath his rear leg for privacy. She found a barrel of water nearby and dipped a bowl into its cool contents and brought it in to her faithful friend.

His great head raised and his eyes struggled to focus on her as she gingerly made her way to him and laid the cool water within easy reach. With a light touch, she ran her hand down his flank as he whined in fear and pain. Scooting next to him, she sat near his head and allowed him to rest his uneasy head on her thigh as she dropped bits of cool water on his feverish coat and pet him reassuringly.

"My poor baby," she cooed softly, trying to calm his plaintive whines, "I know it hurts. I'm so sorry." She wiped her own eyes as she felt the mabari tremble under her gentle touch. She had never considered that her decision would necessarily become his fate, as well. She hoped his continued struggle against the ingested taint was a sign of assured survival – if dogs reacted anything like humans, a fatal response to the taint should have occurred by now, if it were to occur at all.

One of the houndsmen walking by noticed her in the pen and stopped to warn her away from the hound before he realized who he was speaking to. "I'm sorry, miss," he stammered, "I was only going to warn you he was infected – I didn't realize you were a Grey Warden."

She nodded absentmindedly, her fingers tenderly rubbing the mabari's velvet ears between her thumb and forefinger, something that would typically give him great pleasure. Instead, the hound continued with his barely audible yet high-pitched whine. "I wish there were something more I could do for him," she sighed. "It's my fault he's in pain."

The houndsman smiled and rested his forearms on the fence, leaning on them heavily as he examined the woman and her wardog. "Don't let it bother you so much, miss. These dogs would follow their master into Hell in back without thinking twice. If it meant fighting alongside you, I wager he'd do it all over again if given the chance." Fiddling in his pack for a moment, the warrior continued, "I've lost one of my own to the disease and didn't have the luxury of comforting her as you are now. Raised that girl from the day she was weaned, six years old when she finally fell. Best I could do to ease her pain was give her this…"

He tossed her a vial of pink liquid. She opened the stopper and a heavenly floral scent emanated from the vial. "I recognize this scent," she remarked. "This smells like the flowers in the wilds."

He nodded proudly. "Our scouts gather them by the handful whenever we're sent out into the wilds. That tincture helps ease the mabari's pain when it's fighting the disease. We typically soak a bit of bread in it and toss it to them when they've been isolated, since we can't risk getting too near when they're in pain, but maybe he'll let you give him a direct dosage."

She put the mouth of the vial near the hound's nose, allowing him to examine the contents by scent before she gave it to him. She lifted his upper lip and slowly poured the contents past his teeth, and was relieved to see his tongue moving, working to swallow what he could. Within moments, his breathing grew less erratic and his whining began to diminish. She looked up and smiled in thanks to the houndsman, who gave her a friendly nod and went back to preparing the rest of the pack. Soon, her old friend was snoring comfortably, and she was able to maneuver out from under him and whisper promises to him that she would return after the battle was won.

Anlessa took the opportunity before first light to find the Highever contingent's banner among the thousands of troops that had gathered. They confirmed what the King had told her just a few days prior – her brother had been sent out almost immediately after his arrival with a small band of scouts to determine the movement of the darkspawn horde, and had not yet returned from their last message which had arrived a couple of days prior. The man who had been left in charge of Highever's troops was a wizened old soldier who had served as an infantryman at River Dale, decades before. He had seen much of what this world had to offer in the ways of man's murderous ways towards his fellow man, and even he teared up when Anlessa informed him of Highever's fate, and Howe's treachery. Before her family's troops, hours before the battle, Anlessa told those gathered of her parents' bravery, and of the slaughter at Castle Highever, and she called forth to her soldiers to fight with honor and determination, for in their next battle would be to join she and the King to reclaim Highever for its rightful owners, and to see its people returned to peace.

The youngest Cousland left her troops in the capable hands of their assigned leader, their morale lifted and their spirits determined to seek justice for those who had watched over their lands for decades, and whom they had served faithfully for generations. As she left, she noticed the slow migration of soldiers to the valley below. The battle was not yet commencing, but the growing stench of death was carried on winds from the south. The horde was fast approaching, and she could see fear and determination warring on the faces of the majority of men and women who participated in the dire processional into the valley below.

Anlessa found Alistair back at the Warden camp, cleaning his longsword in preparation for the coming battle. "Where's Duncan?" she asked.

"The crafty old bastard's already headed down to the battlefield, likely to keep from hearing me whine any more about our assignment," he replied. "How's your hound?"

She smiled, "The fever's broken, thank the Maker. I'll check on him once we're done with the Tower, but I think he's going to pull through." She sighed. "I don't know what I would do if I lost him, too."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at this, but she continued, "I see you're getting ready for bloodshed. Surely you remember that we're to be lighting a beacon, not battling a horde."

"I was considering heading up in my shortclothes, but 'better safe than sorry,' I always say! Or was it, 'the best cheese comes from the darkest rind'? Maybe, 'the shortest darkspawn smell the most like fish'?"

"Enough," Anlessa groaned as she fell to a pallet next to his and began gathering her own arms about her. "I don't want to have to explain to Duncan later about why I went to the tower alone, and how you were found gagged and hogtied in the camp." She smirked and unwrapped her family's sword, "…covered in Mabari dung."

"Now, that's just mean."

Anlessa looked up at Alistair and fluttered her eyelashes innocently in response, then got to work polishing her blade.

"That is a work of art, if I may say so."

"You may," she smiled, holding the blade up to catch the firelight and allowing its golden crested pommel to shine briefly before taking her rag and going back to work. "This is the Cousland family sword. It's been in our family for centuries. The smithy who made it for Teyrna Haelia incorporated a hint of silver into the blade to help her drive the lycanthrope plague from our lands." Her eyes steeled as she looked back at his. "It's all I have left, and even it will likely end up with my brother Fergus when he returns from the Wilds, since he's now the unknowing Teyrn of Highever. So, I shall enjoy its presence while I can."

Alistair looked at the girl before him curiously, a question on his lips. As he opened his mouth to query her, however, a low horn sounded in the distance, and was quickly joined by another half dozen as the low notes sounded over their corner of the wilds. His eyes widened and he stood with a nod, checking quickly to ensure that his shield and his sword were secured properly. "It's time," he said. "They've spotted the horde. We need to make our way to the tower and watch for the signal flare."

Anlessa's heart leapt into her throat and her mouth was suddenly dry. This was it – battle! Thousands of men and monsters clashing, the ring of weapons against shields, the smell of blood and carnage, the cries of the dying and the victorious over the din of the fight. Was she ready? Did she even have a choice?

She looked up at him, the fear naked in her eyes as she stayed seated on the pallet beneath her. Her heart frozen in her chest, she considered what she was walking into, and what her death would mean to her family and found herself suddenly unwilling to proceed.

Alistair looked down and saw her blue eyes wide with fear and he smiled reassuringly. "Hey, it's going to be all right, I promise." He held out his hand to her and, when she took it, helped her to her feet. "I'll watch your back, you watch mine, and this will all be over before you know it."


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter XV**

Below the ruins of Ostagar in the valley that separated the monstrous horde from the sleeping Bannorns to the North, an army waited and prayed. Urns of fire stood intermingled with the archers, who stood ready for the King's order. Priestesses of the Chantry walked between the rows of veterans and green soldiers alike, their incense a fervent prayer of hope that rose from the hearts of men and wafted into the sky, begging forgiveness and blessing from a Maker who had turned his back on mankind for the evils they'd bestowed upon his consort, Andraste. Young men and women faced South, watching the horizon with tears in their eyes, facing their destiny and their duty with courage belying their age and their tears.

Amongst them, against General Loghain's explicit request, the King stood with the Grey Wardens, his golden armor gleaming amongst the firelight. It was no more than an hour until dawn, and this had been the time of day the creatures had proven themselves most ready to attack, as if the stench of their taint could overwhelm the dawn itself. Cailan looked to the South with a confidence and pride that shone like a beacon to those who stood around him. His youthful face was a mask of hope, and why not? His faith in the Grey Wardens who stood with him was unmatched in the land, and he knew there was no finding of a flaw in Loghain's plans to draw in the creatures and then flank them from the rear when the signal rose from the tower once the battle began. He turned his head to regard the chestnut-haired Warden who stood to his right and smiled as the Warden nodded his head back in encouragement. Sure, it would have been even better if the Wardens had arrived on the backs of their fabled griffons, but those creatures had gone extinct generations ago. In less that a week's time, Cailan estimated, he'd be returning to Denerim to the throngs of his thousands of adoring subjects after driving back the surface raid or, even better, destroying and beheading the Archdemon. Briefly, Cailan wondered if there was room enough over the mantle in the great hall of the palace for him to mount the demon's head.

Duncan stood next to the King, his stomach sour and tight – a sensation that he'd grown used to by now and that heralded the approach of a large number of darkspawn. The taint in his blood sang to him as his dark eyes scanned the shadowed horizon, its corruption tantalized and manipulated by the Archdemon that was orchestrating this attack. "Where are you?" he wondered briefly, and knew the veteran Wardens around him were thinking the same. Incursion after incursion had hit Ostagar, and each attack only increased in size, but never did the Archdemon show itself. If it were not for the fact that each of the other veteran Wardens here had experienced the same call of the Archdemon in their blood, he'd have thought that he was going insane. Duncan scowled as his stomach lurched into a long and uncomfortable cramp. Turning to the King, he said, "Sire, it will not be long."

Cailan blinked a moment later, realizing that Duncan had been speaking to him amidst his revelry. In his mind, he was back home having dinner with Anora and enchanting her with tales of his heroism on the battlefield, and how he faced the Archdemon.

"How long do we have, Duncan?"

"Not long. They will be emerging shortly. I would recommend readying your men, your Highness."

Cailan straightened his back and lowered his helm, then turned to the mass of men before him and raised his hand high. "Men!" he cried, his voice ringing clear over the heads of the quiet army. "Ready yourselves!"

He watched the archers pull from their quivers and shrug their shoulders, loosening up before the order to unleash the first barrage. The Ash Warriors were close behind the archers, hounds at the ready and already straining at their leads. Like the Wardens, the hounds sensed their enemy nearby and were eager to run into the fray. The infantry – the thousands of them that laid in wait in the quiet valley – tensed accordingly. Shields were held a little closer, maces gripped a little tighter, backs standing a little straighter. All eyes were on that dark horizon.

From the South, a mist crept along the mossy ground, winding itself around twisted roots and emerging from empty warrens. The mist glowed in the moonlight, a blue sheen on the swampland of the wilds, a carpet unfurling to welcome the tainted guests to the event awaiting them in the valley below. As the mist entered the valley, the pinpoints of the eyes of the creatures began to appear – unblinking and unfeeling, they stared with the wisdom of the grave at their prey and began to stalk forward.

Cailan narrowed his eyes as the shadows on the horizon grew closer, their bulk growing larger. Still no dragon. Maker's Breath! Was he to be refused glory at every turn? So be it. Another night of mowing down these creatures and returning to camp – it was time to get it over with. The archers watched him intently, waiting for their signal. At his nod, the archers dipped the ends of their arrows into the urns before them and notched the flaming missiles into their bows. The creatures, still moving forward, were close enough to be heard, their shapes now evident in the mist, dented armor glinting in the pale moonlight.

"Ready, men!"

All in the valley could hear the strained sound of the archers' bows bending as the arrows were pulled back.

"Aim!"

As one, the archers leveled their missiles, directing a wide arc that would hit the bulk of the horde.

"For Ferelden!"

The arrows were loosed, a wide arc of fire soaring into the horde, felling dozens. The Ash Warriors, on cue, released the straining hounds, which ran headlong into the fray for their first blood. The Warriors followed close behind, their war cry heartening their bretheren behind them, who rushed forward to their fates, clashing with the creatures far below the quiet ruins above.

Cailian smiled behind his helm. Demon or no, this should make for an enjoyable evening.

* * *

High above the din of battle, situated on a scarcely noticeable ledge on the stone cliff, two pairs of eyes – one pair a shocking golden yellow and the other a beautiful shade of violet – looked down upon the bloodshed below with a cold and calculated interest.

"It looks like the evening's entertainment has begun, Mother."

The other observer cackled merrily. From her height, her keen eye could see the sweat on the brow of the King from the flames nearby, the tears in the eyes of the priestesses who watched from the rear of the valley, and two familiar figures high above the fray making their way quickly to the base of the tower across from her. "Indeed it has, my thorn of the wilds. Indeed it has."


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Hey, look - my first author's note. My apologies for the delay in this. I procrastinate when it comes to writing combat and instead prefer to skip way ahead in the storyline. Thank you to all of you who have subscribed and left reviews. They are truly a treasure to read. Now, on to the action...

* * *

**Chapter XVI**

By the time Alistair and Anlessa had reached the bridge that connected the main camp to the Tower of Ishal, the battle far below was already well underway. The machinists on the bridge in charge of the catapults were loading and releasing massive loads of flaming rock, raining like brimstone onto the approaching horde. They ran across the bridge, Alistair keeping a close eye on the Ferelden army below. Anlessa could see the longing as he looked down, and recalled the camaraderie that he and Duncan had been sharing in her short time with them. She realized as they approached the tower that he must now feel much as she had when she'd been told that her father and brother would be heading in to battle without her by their side. She gave thought to offering him kind words in that regard, but realized that no amount of platitudes would quell the longing to be with those you love as they faced danger.

On the other side of the bridge, two figures ran in their direction in a blind panic.

"_Darkspawn!_" cried the smaller of the two, a middle-aged man in robes wielding a simple staff who collapsed forward with his hands on his knees, gasping desperately for breath. Behind him, one of Loghain's soldiers panted heavily, his eyes desperately searching those of the Wardens. "The tower! It's been taken!"

"What do you mean, man?" demanded Alistair, "Taken how?"

"The tower has been overrun with darkspawn. They erupted from the cellars and slaughtered everyone who was quartered there. We barely escaped with our lives!" The soldier stopped to look at the two of them more closely with a hint of hope in his voice, "Wait.. you're Grey Wardens, aren't you?"

Anlessa and Alistair looked at each other with concern. "We have to get to the beacon," Anlessa said softly. "If the beacon isn't lit, this battle is lost."

Alistair nodded in agreement and addressed the two before them. "You will join us – we must light the beacon to summon Loghain's forces. Stick close to us and stay alert."

* * *

The Tower was quiet as a tomb when the group entered, and Anlessa recognized the fetid stench of rot and taint as soon as she crossed the threshold – the same stench that poured from the flesh of the creatures they'd slaughtered in the Wilds not a day prior. The smell of the taint had taken on a different quality to her senses, now – a sickeningly sweet scent that crawled into her perception and settled there, familiar, welcoming and yet utterly alien and monstrous. She breathed deeply, looking about at the carnage that was suggested by the amount of blood that was splattered on the walls and the floor, illuminated only by burning, charred rubble in the corner. The tower was nearly completely dark, and no bodies of Ferelden warriors were strewn about – they had undoubtedly been completely removed. The question was – why?

She had no time to consider this further, as Alistair had held his hand up in warning and then motioned for the group to take cover to either side of a door leading to the tower's center chamber. Anlessa could hear shuffling on the other side of the wall, and a harsh snuffling as of an animal scenting the wind. Behind her, she could feel the mage pressed to her back, trembling in fear. Instinctively, she reached back to touch his arm gently and then looked over her shoulder to give him a reassuring smile that she had not truly felt in her heart. Seeing her warm reassurance, however, the mage stood a little straighter, breathed a little deeper, and held his staff more firmly, awaiting whatever was to come around the corner.

Alistair swallowed sourly, trying to focus on the small group that was scouting the lower level of the tower but unable to shake the knowledge of the teeming horde that was surrounding them. When he'd stood in the smaller battles prior, his awareness of the horde was unidirectional – it was obvious then that the horde was directly in front of him and the rest of the Wardens. In here, he could feel their taint to his side, stacking high above him and crawling deep beneath his feet. They were surrounded, and there was no good way to communicate that without further distressing the mage and soldier who had been conscripted to join them in their battle to cut their way to the beacon.

There was little more time to think as the small scouting party turned into the tower's entryway. Alistair surmised that they may have been headed outside to check for stragglers. He leapt forward with a battle cry, stunning the creatures rounding the doorway and smashed his shield into the face of the one in front – a short, squat creature with a grey-green tint to its flesh. The small darkspawn flew backwards in response, tumbling into a whimpering heap as the foursome revealed themselves, weapons at the ready. Alistair and Anlessa stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the creatures' path from the two trembling figures behind them and, with a quick glance to each other to provide strength, both of them moved forward, laying into the few creatures before them.

In a matter of minutes, the skirmish was over and handled entirely by the two young wardens. The seasoned veterans who stood behind them with wide eyes were astounded when the two straightened and, as if one, turned back to look first at each other and then at their companions – he with a lopsided grin and she with a smug air of satisfaction. She smiled easily at the soldier and repeated what Alistair had told her not but a day before. "They _can_ be killed," she assured him.

Alistair addressed the mage, who still remained dumbfounded. "Do you carry healing magic, sir?" he asked with the utmost respect.

The mage corrected his slouching posture immediately, his back ramrod straight as he nodded in response. "I do, Warden."

The youth grinned. "Good, then you can keep us alive."

Anlessa focused on the soldier that stood before them and raised her chin, indicating the crossbow that was attached securely to the man's back. "How well do you use that bow, soldier?"

"As well as any other from Gwaren, I dare say, ma'am."

"Excellent." She smiled and bent down to wipe the gore from her blades onto the cooling bodies at her feet. "Your job is to keep _him_," she indicated with one of her blades towards the mage, "alive and unthreatened. Stay back, do what you can with that crossbow, and don't be afraid to pull out your blades on anything that gets past the two of us." Gesturing to the mage, she added, "If you can keep us going, and throw out what surprises you can in the meantime, I think we can do this."

Alistair nodded in agreement, eyeing their two new companions. "It won't be easy. I can tell you that the tower is crawling with darkspawn, and we'll face resistance every step of the way. However," he grinned with confidence, "we can do this together. Are you with us?"

It was only a moment's hesitation before each of the men before them nodded in earnest, their countenances showing a stoic bravery that – whether forced or inspired – provided both wardens with a modest amount of reassurance.

"Right, then," Anlessa said, "Let's start climbing."

* * *

The wardens learned from the tower guard that the Tower of Ishal featured five above-ground floors – the top of which was an open-air patio of sorts surrounding the signal flame – and two deep cellars. Beneath the lowest of the cellars, abandoned tunnels had been recently been discovered and were being secured by the small garrison that had been stationed there. There had been no sign of activity in the weeks they'd been watching the tunnels, until the moment the battle had begun below. At that point, the few soldiers that had been left in the cellars to watch what they'd thought was merely an empty hole were thoroughly overwhelmed by the incoming darkspawn, which then moved up through the tower on a path of rampant destruction and slaughter. The evidence of it was everywhere – remains of barricaded doors that had been absolutely crushed beneath the force of the horde, long smears of blood and gore on the walls and leading down the stairs. As they cut their way to the third floor, Anlessa could have sworn that a small pile of debris to the side was actually the brown-haired scalp and part of a face of a Ferelden soldier. Her normally strong stomach turned, and she wrenched her gaze away, lest she grow ill.

The groups that they'd encountered so far, while numerous, had posed only a minor challenge – they congregated in groups of four to six creatures, and the more that Anlessa was exposed to the darkspawn, the more she realized just how easy they were to outmaneuver. Their armor was primarily made of what appeared to be cast-offs, and their weapons were largely poor in quality. She imagined that someone with sufficient strength and a solid greatsword could shatter some of these weapons without much of an issue. Her mind fluttered back to Ser Gilmore, his long blade flashing while holding off Howe's men and then to Ser Jory, his tremendous blade trembling in his hand as he sought to evade the chalice that was pushed his way. Sighing, she forced the two ginger-haired men from her head and focused on the task at hand.

Reaching the third level, the small group heard the unmistakable but unexpected sound of a group of Mabari hounds muffled behind the solid oaken door. Anlessa looked at Alistair, who appeared to be mildly nervous, leading her to assume that the group beyond the barrier was more significant than they'd dealt with prior. She rested her hand gently on the young Warden's arm in reassurance, meeting his eyes with her own and giving him a smile of confidence. The warmth of her sentiment set alight the hope in his dark eyes and he returned her smile eagerly. He released the latch of the handle gingerly, the others watching him breathlessly and praying that the creatures on the other side would not hear.

Alistair peeked through the crack in the door opening, and Anlessa crouched low to look with him. He grimaced. Inside the room were cages of Mabari hounds, both dead and alive, and the room was crawling with darkspawn archers and one short but well-armored genlock wielding a staff. Tremendous, Alistair thought – a caster.

Anlessa looked up at him, her mind on the bodies of the hounds in the room, obviously used as target practice by the darkspawn while they kept the tower secure. She swallowed heavily and reminded herself that her own beloved hound was safe in its pen, separated from those that would harm him by Ferelden's entire army. Her eyes turned back to the room, scanning the cages for any sense of how to release their captives, but finding no answer. There were no obvious locks on the cage doors, and she imagined that the cages must be controlled through a singular mechanism. Gently, Alistair's hand rested on her shoulder, bidding her to rise. As quietly as possible, she rose to her feet and took her place behind the Junior Warden, the hilt of her family sword heavy and comforting in her right hand, and her familiar short blade from her raids in Highever in her left. She took a deep breath in preparation, letting it out slowly, each second of control increasing her resolve.

His heart heavy in his chest, Alistair gripped his Warden's shield tightly, the rearing blue enameled griffon crest providing him with little in terms of reassurance. Perhaps it was his templar background, but he had a significant level of fear and distrust of mages. His training allowed him some defense and specific offensive measures against casters, but his years at the chantry were spent with templars and priests alike driving an unhealthy fear of their capabilities into his head. He was not looking forward to this fight.

Alistair raised his foot high, sending it crashing against the open door, and issuing a startling war cry into the room before him. Immediately, all dark eyes in that room were on him, the three that stood behind him unnoticed in the wake of the cry from the red-faced warrior who screamed his challenge with a fury that was unmistakable in any language. He rushed in, his scream echoing off of the stone walls of the room, sword raised high and shield directly ahead of him.

When Anlessa saw what he was running towards and the intricately carved staff it carried, she realized the threat that he was attempting to eliminate. Turning back towards the guard, she barked, "The mage! Take it down as quickly as you can." The weathered man nodded in obedience, taking an arrow from his quiver and drawing the bow, the head of the short caster centered in his sights.

Alistair closed upon the caster, the few darkspawn soldiers in the room closing in behind him as the archers aimed carefully for his back. The darkspawn mage examined the young templar with a cold and unflinching eye before sweeping its arms forward, a gutteral curse falling from its cracked lips. A rush of cold swept over and through him, and Alistair choked on his own breath as he pushed forward, his entire body protesting with each strangled movement. Behind him, the footsoldiers who had been closing in were also caught in the blast, freezing in place, their unblinking eyes wide with surprise and pain.

As Alistair caught the attention of the room, Anlessa slipped in, her eyes now scanning the room in full. Her eyes rested between two of the heavy iron cages, the frantic barks of the mabari left in the room ringing in her ears. A lever! The lever was guarded by two of the archers that were busily firing at her fellow warden's exposed back, their attention only on the man who had rushed through their ranks to attack their leader. The girl ran forward, doing her best to keep out of their peripheral vision as their gaze was turned towards the end of the room, and came in behind the two of them, her blades held tightly to her side until the instant she stood behind the creatures. With a barely audible grunt, she thrust her arms forward, the finely honed blades sinking easily past the weak leather armor the darkspawn wore and into their chests. Their bows clattered to the ground, nearly in unison and she could feel their brief resistance – that split second where their minds decide to fight back just before their bodies surrender to the pain and damage. One collapsed to the floor without a sound, and her blade slipped effortlessly from its flesh. The other stumbled forward, its hands clutching its chest as it stepped off of her sword and turned to face her, its visage a mixture of surprise and rage.

She stepped back, observing the monster quietly as it snarled at her, hands dropping to its belt, where it fumbled briefly for its worn short sword. Sword drawn, it growled and charged her. She eyed the grotesque creature with cold disinterest, finally pulling at the lever her hand had been resting on behind her back. With a slow, grinding squeal, each of the cage doors fell into recesses in the floor, and the half dozen frantic mabari that were inside the cages leaped out, eager to seek revenge on their tormentors. The mabari closest to her had her archer in its sights, and tackled the darkspawn from the back, shredding the creature with its sharp claws and rending its flesh with powerful jaws.

Alistair was raining blows upon the caster, finding his sword deflected more than once with the sound of steel against stone. He cursed internally, doing his best to keep the mage from casting any further, but realizing that there was armor involved that he wasn't able to discern with his eye. Gritting his teeth, he drew his memory back to instruction he'd received less than a year prior. After taking a deep breath and a moment to concentrate, the former templar felt an energy building in his core which he focused on and, meeting the caster's eyes with a grin, released with a stunning shout. A shockwave of energy radiated from the warden's body, knocking the short caster onto its back.

Seeing an opening in the creature's defenses, a nearby hound rushed forward, taking the caster's neck in its mighty jaws and twisting back and forth with vigor. Alistair found himself wincing reflexively when a sickening crack resounded from the body and the darkspawn ceased its struggles. Turning back to the rest of the room, he saw Anlessa engaging another pair of darkspawn that had thrown down their bows and were fruitlessly attempting to defend themselves. The mabari that she had released were mauling another half dozen creatures, leaving the tower guard facing down another shorter darkspawn. Alistair dove in to help the guard first, noting that Anlessa was easily handling herself and almost toying with the creatures that were attempting to take her out.

When all of the darkspawn in the large room had stopped moving, the wardens looked at each other in astonishment. On the floor, no less than 15 darkspawn were mauled or impaled. Anlessa decided that this was one of the best things she'd seen in the past few weeks, and grinned, her face lighting up like a child's. Alistair looked at his crew of three and couldn't help but smile proudly. To Anlessa, he nodded in approval. "Releasing the dogs was brilliant," he said with a chuckle, "I think we work well together."

Anlessa's heart swelled at the compliment from her fellow warden, pleased that she had impressed her more experienced companion. Doing her best to hide her pleasure, she asked, "We have two floors left – what do you see before us upstairs?"

She saw Alistair pause, and then look up at the ceiling quizzically. "I... I don't see how that's possible."

"What is it?" Anlessa and their two other companions looked on in concern.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't really see anything between us and the top of the tower. The entire floor above us is abandoned, and there may be one darkspawn left up by the signal – two at the most." He smiled brightly. "It seems this was their last stand, here. It should be a straight shot from here."

Anlessa's heart lightened. They had lost time in having to clear out the tower, but if they double-timed it to the signal beacon, perhaps they wouldn't be too late. "Let's hurry, then," she responded. "...while we may still be of use to the King."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter XVII

As Alistair had anticipated, the fourth floor of the Tower was essentially abandoned by the darkspawn – the only evidence of their presence being the copious amounts of gore that had been left behind. They reached the door to the top of the tower without challenge, spirits raised at the prospect of their mission completing shortly.

Alistair stopped short of the door, a smile playing upon his lips as he imagined the wholesale slaughter of what he assumed was the lone creature guarding the tower's beacon on the other. His smile of self satisfaction faltered momentarily, and Anlessa caught the change immediately. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"It's odd," he said, "Typically, I can count them from such close quarters." He pursed his lips in confusion, looking down to meet her inquisitive eyes. "I still cannot tell if there's one or two creatures in there. It's as if they're melded together in my senses. I've never experienced this before."

She smiled in return. "One, two, three... they're still no match for us. Let's finish this task and be done with it."

He nodded in agreement, his air reflecting her own confidence. "...after you, my Lady?"

Anlessa snorted. "No, I believe I'll let you take the honors."

Alistair grabbed the handle to the door and threw it open, entering as he did in the rooms below with a deafening war cry, intent on instilling fear deep in the heart of the creatures within. Anlessa sprang out behind him as his cry strangled into a squeal of terror.

"Maker..."

Between the two young wardens and the platform that contained the aged wood awaiting the spark to ignite the signal fire was a monstrous creature, larger than any man or beast Alistair had ever been unlucky enough to see in his limited experience. It was clearly darkspawn – its corpse-pale, blue-tinted skin and twisted flesh made that perfectly obvious. It squatted over a pile of corpses, human and elvish alike, ripping limbs and biting into them with massive steeled jaws that ripped through flesh and pulverized bone with terrifying ease. Two curling, mismatched horns jutted from the creature's skull, adding to its dizzying height. The part of Anlessa's brain that was able to maintain its function upon seeing the monster briefly wondered how the thing could ever have fit through the doors of the tower to reach its precipice.

"This can't be happening," Alistair whispered, his eyes wide and fearful as the towering giant began to straighten from his feast of flesh and turned its massive head their way. Noticing its four new playthings, it raised itself to full height, its jaws opening wide to reveal two terrifying rows of razor-sharp teeth as it released an ear-splitting guttural roar.

"What is that thing!" Anlessa screamed over the monster's cry.

"I… I don't _know_!" responded Alistair, who saw the creature turn back to easily lift a piece of rubble the size of two full grown men. "… but, we need to run. NOW!"

The rubble flew their way at an impossible speed as they ran and jumped for safety, the marble shattering behind them and shaking the floor of the ruin.

Anlessa shook in fear on the ground, her body both unwilling to move and yet unwilling to stay anywhere near the horrifying vision. Alistair gasped for breath, panic gripping his chest and squeezing like a vice. The tower guard and the mage trembled nearby, staying perfectly still on the ground as if they were mere rodents hiding in a field, praying their stillness would be their salvation.

The creatured roared again, shaking the two wardens out of their shock. They rose to their feet as lumbered their way, a perversely confident swagger that made it look all too human in Anlessa's eyes. Alistair turned back towards their two companions, who were still petrified on the floor. "The plan has not changed!" he barked. Pointing to the mage, he commanded, "Keep me alive or we will all fall." To the tower guard, "And by the Maker's mercy, man, aim for the eyes!"

With the creature mere feet away, Alistair turned back towards their foe, assuming a completely defensive stance, his grip on his shield absolutely unwavering. He answered the beast's roar with his own, sword poised to attack, and twisted roughly to the side to avoid a large blue fist crashing to the ground beside him. From a distance away, Anlessa felt the marble floor tremble beneath her feet, and she saw the mage and guard standing still, watching the suddenly small templar face off against the darkspawn. Blades poised at her sides, she spat, "You heard the man! Let's see some blood!"

This snapped both of Loghain's men out of their fearful reverie. The mage looked on with determination and braced himself momentarily before raising his hand toward the sky and shouting an ancient spell into the cold morning air, and Anlessa saw the surface of the monster crystallize, as if it were suddenly covered with frost. The beast snarled, its movements suddenly and significantly slowed, now unable to get near the taunting warden that was commanding its attention before him. Missiles flew at the creature, some passing by its massive head, ricocheting from its great horns, and some burying themselves painfully into its bare neck and shoulders.

Anlessa took the opportunity to sneak behind it, sinking her blades deeply into its thick, muscular thighs. The creature roared in pain, its skin losing the sheen of the mage's spell, and it lifted its leg with ease, kicking back and catching her squarely in the chest. She flew backward, slamming roughly into a marble pillar far behind her. She coughed, pain spreading across her chest, and tasted copper immediately. Groaning, she forced herself up, seeing that the creature had turned to start toward her, only to be taunted off by the former Templar to give her a moment to recuperate. Warmth like the heat of a fireplace washed over her and she gasped, her chest now aching but no longer bearing the splintering, searing pain. She looked up to the mage, who was smiling at her with assurance in his eyes. She nodded in response, returning a smile of genuine gratitude.

Standing again, she rushed the creature from the rear and thrusting her blades into the other leg, stunned when it did little more than cause the monster to elicit a mere grunt of protest. Looking up, she realized any vitals were far behind her reach. How were they going to do this?

Alistair taunted the hulking creature yet again, throwing a nearby piece of rock with astounding accuracy, hitting the creature just above its eye before screaming at it again and backing up, waiting for it to rush him in anger. The darkspawn snorted in irritation, kicking Anlessa back absentmindedly and refocused itself on the former Templar. Taking two large steps forward with Alistair in its sights, it then sped up into a slow trot. Alistair's eyes opened wide in fear as the creature got closer, turning to run but catching his ankle in a pile of rubble and falling to the ground with a cry of dismay.

There seemed to be a chuckle of satisfaction from the creature above him as it lifted its two massive arms over its head, hands clenched together as a fleshly sledgehammer aimed for the fallen Warden lying below it. As the hands came down, Alistair whimpered, "Maker!" and threw himself to the side, rolling out of the way of the blow in time to miss the terrible blow.

Anlessa looked over to the mage and scanned the tower summit, suddenly realizing that they may not survive the creature long enough to complete their task – how could they stand up to such a thing when they could not even reach the parts of the creature that would end its life? Pointing to the pyre that had been prepared long before the battle started, she shouted to the mage, "The beacon! Light the beacon!"

The mage looked on helplessly, his inability to help evident on his face. The creature was planted firmly between the small group and the signal tinder, and appeared to be deliberately moving itself to remain that way. There would be no sneaking around the creature to light the beacon. At the tower, he'd never concentrated in elemental magics, and knew none of the spells that the fire mages wielded with such ease, or he might have been able to help from a distance. He looked to the guard standing nearby for help and saw his bow lowered, his countenance thoughtful. A smile spread on the guard's face, and he pulled out his blade.

The mage looked on in confusion and then horror as the guard approached him with the short sword. He backed up in fear and the guard shook his head in annoyance. "Stand still, you little twit. I ain't gonna hurt you." He grabbed the mage by the sleeve, raising his blade and deftly cutting a strip of the fine fabric free. Immediately, he wrapped the small strip around the head of one of his arrows and took a well-hidden hip flask out, pouring a sharp-smelling liquid onto the fabric, soaking it thoroughly. The mage looked on in disapproval. "What?" asked the guard. "A man ain't allowed a stiff drink on break now and again?"

The tower guard ran to the nearest of the torches on the tower precipice and held the arrow high, satisfied when he saw it immediately burst into a bright flame. Drawing his bow, he hesitated but a moment to consider a silent prayer before releasing the string, sending the small tongue of fire hurtling across the courtyard, past the wardens and their quarry, and deep into the kindling that housed the signal fire.

The wardens had noticed the activity and had diligently been trading off the monster's attentions to attempt to keep it from noticing the mage and the archer nearby. When the arrow whipped past their heads and buried itself deep into the wood, the darkspawn was the only one who hadn't noticed. The other four found it suddenly difficult to breathe as they prayed for success.

Alistair taunted the creature desperately, his heart aching with fear that the kindling would stay dark. Anlessa diligently attempted death by a thousand cuts around the creature's legs, her hope of coming out of this battle alive lowering by the second as signs of fatigue betrayed themselves in her movements, and in her fellow warden's.

A thin line of smoke emerged from the center of the pile of tinder, spreading slowly at first and then erupting into a ball of flame within the signal pit, illuminating the courtyard with a blinding light. The creature looked at the fire and screamed in defiance and anger, the rage at having failed its task clear on its gruesome face.

The hulking beast rushed Alistair one final time, and the former Templar found himself unable to summon the stamina to dart out of the way, his exhausted form rolling to the side, but not quickly or far enough. A great grey-blue fist darted out to catch him around his waist, jerking him up from the cold stone floor. With a cry, Alistair dropped his weapon in panic as he was raised to the height of the creature's head. Ineffectually beating the creature's massive fist with his own free hand, he nearly missed the monster's other fist flying towards his head. The young man held up his shield, bracing himself as best as he could, only to be rattled to the core by the force of the blow.

Seeing the creature's fist rearing back for a second blow at Alistair's disoriented form, Anlessa screamed in challenge, attempting to distract the predator from its quarry. Ignoring the girl behind it, the creature sent his massive fist forward again, rattling the warden and sending his shield crashing to the ground. Anlessa saw Alistair's eyes roll back into his head as he collapsed in the creature's hand. A low, rumbling chuckle emerged from the brute's throat as it reared back a third time.

"NO!" cried Anlessa, who had run forward without thinking, launching herself into the air. Not again – she wouldn't allow this to happen _again_, not when she had breath left in her to prevent it. The newest of Ferelden's wardens flew towards the creature's back, planting her blades deeply to either side of its spine. The monster flailed in pain as she hung to the hilts of her swords for dear life. Alistair was sent flying to the side as the creature impotently attempted to reach around to remove the violator from its back. Seeing the young warden in a crumpled heap, the mage rushed to the boy , hands splayed and mouth moving in a fervent whisper, quietly casting healing magic the best he could without attracting attention. Gritting her teeth with determination, Anlessa pulled Highever's sword from the creature's broad, muscular back and, with a moment's hesitation to aim properly, rammed the razor-sharp blade home in the middle of its massive back, severing its spine.

The creature's roar was deafening and despairing as its legs gave out from under it, powerless to stop its own swift descent. She rode its back, a wordless prayer to the Maker echoing from her heart that its bulk would not land on top of her. She crashed to the ground, the hot pale flesh of the creature writhing beneath her. Snarling, she removed both of the blades from the creature's back as the guard looked on with eyes wide in fear, his bow drawn tight but fallen near to his side in shock. Before the brute could flip and defend itself, both blades were driven deep into its chest as she aimed to where she could only imagine its heart might be, twisting the blades cruelly and opening the wounds wide to allow the poisonous blood to flow out like a rushing stream.

A groan rattled from the throat of the monstrosity beneath her, and Anlessa removed both of her blades from its stilled chest and hopped down off of its massive back. She moved over to Alistair's prone form, relieved to see the mage busy at work and Alistair groaning in protest of the pain that was likely racking his mending body. Pain could be tolerated, she knew – it was what happened when one no longer felt the pain that she had feared. Looking up, she saw the signal fire blazing brightly in the growing light of the morning sky, and she nodded in grim satisfaction. She only hoped that the Teyrn would have seen the signal in time to help Ferelden's army below.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter XVIII

Loghain paced furtively, his eyes glancing repeatedly to the West, watching for the signal on the tower. His first in command stood nearby, eyes straight ahead but noting Loghain's pacing with a modicum of concern. It was not like her Lord to show emotion prior to battle to this degree. In the years she'd served under him, Cauthrien had known him only to be aloof, calculating, powerful… and always _right_. She wondered, briefly, if this was how he showed his worry. Even she knew that the signal should have come by now – a sign that things were going much better than anticipated, or that the King's army had been overwhelmed so quickly and completely that the signal couldn't be sent. Cauthrien briefly considered the possibility of worrying about the latter, and pushed it aside quietly in her mind. She was not here to plan, to worry, or to even think. Her strength and her ability as Loghain's First lay solely in her ability to follow orders with the tenacity and ferocity, if necessary, of a rabid hound. It was what Loghain respected her for, and is why he'd taken her in so many years ago to serve in his militia.

It was not worry, however, that had curled its dark tendrils within Loghain's mind.

Scouts had reported to him that the fighting had started at least thirty minutes prior, and that the horde had not only grown in size from the last incursion – as had been expected in Cailan's plan for a 'glorious battle' – but would also likely overwhelm the King's army. Loghain surmised from their report that when he led the Gwaren contingent into the fray, the fight would end in victory, but the cost… There would be no way they'd be able to replenish enough forces to make up for the losses plus handle an even greater incursion. He had known this was entirely possible, even likely, when the King demanded this massive battle be constructed over a week back. The King had insisted on making the Wilds his dramatic last stand against the Blight, and would listen to no amount of reason from Loghain.

"Cailan, you fool." Loghain muttered darkly, look up once again at the dark tower in the distance before resuming his pacing. If, by some miracle, the boy hero were to survive being on the front lines of this onslaught, Loghain knew precisely what his next step would be – to send emissaries to beg forces from Orlais. Would Orlais agree? But, of course they would. The kindly Empress would send infantry and calvary, Wardens and Chevaliers. The forces of Orlais would come pouring like a tidal wave over the weakened Ferelden border under the pretense of providing assistance and ending the blight. Once here, however, how many of them would leave? Would _any_ of them leave? With a weakened Ferelden military, could the brutes be forced out of the country again, anyhow?

Cailan couldn't see this – no, he staunchly _refused_ to see reason in this regard. One generation of Theirin blood removed from Ferelden's abject slavery to the Orlesians, and the child was not just willing but _eager_ to open the henhouse once again to the foxes who had nearly destroyed it not but three decades ago.

"My Lord!" Loghain looked past Cauthrien's outstretched arm to the West, now seeing what everyone else did – the tower was alight, the beacon finally raised.

Loghain paused for just a moment in looking towards the ruins of Ostagar, his heart heavy and cold as stone. "Cauthrien," he said, "… sound the retreat."

Reflexively, Cauthrien prepared herself to issue the command for the troops behind them to move forward into their march to the ruin, and stopped herself as she realized what she'd just heard. Stepping forward to Loghain in confusion, she started, "But, the King…"

The man before her fixed upon her with eyes bereft of pity, and there was naught but a seething fire of anger behind his voice as he roughly grabbed her arm, wrenching her small form to him. Voice low, he said, "If you value your country, you will _do as I command_."

Cauthrien roughly pulled herself away, meeting his intense gaze with her own outraged glare. Standing up straight, she stared him down before turning to the troops behind her, signaling the retreat while shouting, "Alright, men! Move out!"

Loghain turned again to look at the signal fire in the distance, finding himself oddly bereft of any guilt or sorrow. As he turned to follow his troops back home, he could have sworn he'd heard a soft but satisfied chuckle from the trees behind him and the words, "…and each betrayal worse than the last."

He spun about, hand on the hilt of his sword, to confront his accuser – but, there was no one there.

* * *

Far below the gore-drenched Tower of Ishal, the greedy soil of the wilds drank deeply of the blood of man and monster alike, and the sound of steel against steel was deafening. Ferelden's army had started out strong, the confidence of the young King contagious among his soldiers, and his eagerness to jump into the fray proving an inspiration. The first wave, the second wave, the third wave of creatures were battered and slaughtered by the men and women struggling to save not only their only lives from the Blight, but that of their families back home, and their beloved country.

The fourth wave and the fifth, however, proved to be far more of a challenge to stand against. The fourth wave produced something that hadn't been seen yet from the horde – magic users, the _emissaries_ that Duncan knew of only from his own experience in the depths of the Deep Roads. The fifth wave proved even more painful, when the massive hulking beasts known as _ogres_ were unleashed onto the battlefield.

Fending off darkspawn attacks right and left, Duncan looked up to the tower rising tall above the battle in despair – Cailan had sent the signal not twice, but three times for the tower to light the beacon, and yet the tower stood dark. Duncan feared for the worst. He had unwittingly sent his two least experienced wardens into a hornet's nest. The Archdemon that planned these waves of attack designed to destroy any vestige of Ferelden's defense against the blight had somehow ensured that the sanctuary of the camp itself had also been violated.

In his peripheral vision, Duncan could see the number of Ferelden's soldiers steadily decreasing in the onslaught – men and women ripped open and apart with crude yet effective weapons, destroyed with magic, and crushed beneath the massive fists and feet of towering monsters. Still, he pressed forward – there was no giving in, here, and by the look of the numbers still pouring forth, there would be no retreat. Duncan could only hope that Teyrn Loghain might sense that something was wrong, and press forward with his forces with enough time to hit the flank and take pressure off of the King.

Duncan looked to the King, who had moved farther away from the Warden and thicker into the fray, taking foes out to the right and left as his bright golden armor flashed and shone in the growing light of dawn. Duncan cursed under his breath, and turned Cailan's way to cut a path back to the King's side. He had charged himself to look after Maric's son in this battle, and it was proving increasingly difficult as Cailan moved across the battlefield. Cailan was a capable fighter, and wielded his two-handed blade with skill honed in years of practice with instructors in the palace. However, the darkspawn were great in number and the Warden knew that the youth underestimated the danger they posed.

As Duncan grew closer, the ground shook beneath his feet. He and Cailan looked up simultaneously to see a monstrous ogre charging their way, knocking humans and darkspawn alike aside in its rampage. With horror, Duncan saw that the rampaging creature had its sights set directly on Cailan.

"King Cailan!" Duncan was frantic, cutting his way to the monarch as fast as he could. "Cailan! _RUN!_"

Cailan gripped his sword with renewed vigor, choosing to ignore Duncan's warning and, instead, stepped directly into the path of the monster, holding the blade carefully to the side with the intent to catch the creature in its approach. He smiled in anticipation – in lieu of a dragon's head over the mantle, this monstrosity would certainly do.

The ogre's footsteps shook the ground violently as it trampled creatures and men alike in its focus on the human King before it. Cailan willed himself to patience, calculating the brute's arrival carefully in his head. Finally, the moment came and Cailan aimed carefully, spinning in a broad sweep aimed directly at the monster's exposed torso with a shout of triumph. However, instead of making contact and knowing the sweet satisfaction of his blade's edge sinking deep into the creature's vitals, Cailan's sword met with nothing but air.

From a distance, Duncan could do nothing but watch as he pressed forward desperately, a crowd of men and darkspawn alike blocking the path to his King. The large creature had sidestepped Cailan's wide swing with ease, leaving the lad disoriented. In disbelief, he watched the towering giant that easily stood as tall as two and a half grown men and as wide as a team of horses pick up the young King in one massive fist and haul his helpless body up to stare the youth in his eyes. For a moment, the man and creature stared each other down, Cailan fruitlessly struggling against the iron grip of his captor and doing his best not to show the terror that had taken hold of his heart. The creature studied the frail form in its hands, and then opened its jaws wide, roaring its challenge just inches away from Cailan's wincing face before its vice-like fingers collapsed inward, easily crushing the small and fragile form of the King.

Duncan screamed in protest as he saw Cailan's form change immediately from its struggle to survive to a limp and lifeless marionette in the ogre's grip. The King's head lolled back onto his shoulders, pale face staring with wide yet blank eyes as Duncan saw the youth's lifeblood now flowing readily from his mouth and his nose. Seemingly disgusted by the weakness of his foe, the ogre tossed Cailan's body aside with ease, knocking two of Ferelden's archers over in the process. The Warden looked to where the King's body lie and then back to beast that had killed him, his eyes darkening in anger.

Cutting his way to a clear path, Duncan ran forward to the brute, gathering speed as he screamed in anguish and rage. The ogre turned to him, arms wide and hands open, ready for the new challenge. As the beast bent over to snatch the elder warden in its massive grip, Duncan launched himself into the air, his blades held high over his head and driving forward. He made contact with the creature, blades first, the shortswords diving deep into the creature's abdomen. Relishing in the sound of its pain-filled cries, he plunged the blades higher, using them to climb the massive body. Reaching its oversized head, he plunged his blade one last time into the creature's neck. A fount of dark blood issued forth as the beast fell backwards, taking Duncan with it.

The Warden landed hard, the toll of the battle and the magnitude of his loss finally settling in on his aged body. Limping over to the King's body, he knelt beside it with tears in his eyes, and then looked up to the darkened tower above him where Alistair and Anlessa certainly breathed their last. Touching Cailan's body with reverence and grief, he moaned, "Maric, forgive me. I have failed you."

From above, a flash of brilliance and the sound of a multitude of beating wings called Duncan's attention back to the tower. High above the battle, where Ferelden's heroes were dead and dying, the beacon came alight with a mighty blaze. Duncan's heart jumped in his throat. Could there be hope after all?

He looked around at the carnage that surrounded him. Standing slowly, unarmed, he saw Ferelden's army falling one by one. The darkspawn that had previously been avoiding his prowess with his blades seemed to finally recognize that he stood helpless before them as they gathered together to close in on the last surviving Warden on the battlefield. He cast one last glance up to the beacon on the tower before kneeling down to pick a tattered sword off of a nearby corpse. Gripping it easily, he nodded to the carefully approaching darkspawn wearing a helm of metal and horns and whispered a farewell to those who had lit the beacon.

"May the Maker preserve you."

* * *

"What are they waiting for?"

Alistair was watching the faint glow of Loghain's army from far in the distance, expecting to see the masses of men pouring forth from their seclusion to join the King's army in the fray, below. Instead, the soft and barely hidden glow of thousands of torches stayed hidden within the valley – safe from the blood and chaos that he was watching below.

Anlessa looked worried, pacing in the open air atop the tower. "Do we go back down, then?" She looked over to the Junior Warden that accompanied her, and then to the corpse of the monstrosity that they'd laid to rest not ten minutes prior. The wardens' companions followed her gaze over to Alistair as she added, "I know Duncan had suggested that we stay with the beacon, but surely they can use our help down there."

She awaited a reply, but found herself puzzled by Alistair's response. His eyes wide, he turned back to her direction, but his gaze was miles away and his face was turning ashen with fear. His stomach was cramping fiercely, and his blood was fiery in his veins. His eyes refocused on the three before him as he took out his shield and sword, shouting, "Get away from the door!"

Anlessa whirled about just in time to see the door behind her splinter into a thousand fragments, and the bodies of a multitude of darkspawn pour through with her and Alistair set in their sights. She heard Alistair's command to take cover a split second too late, and felt the searing agony of a dozen arrows burying themselves in her flesh. She gasped for breath and found none, stumbling back and collapsing at Alistair's feet. Shield at the ready, Alistair uttered a resounding war cry and rushed the front lines of the darkspawn and saw to the side both the mage and the tower guard fall against the onslaught. Alistair was lost in the heat of battle, cutting down his foes to each side, and it wasn't until the ogre's giant blue fist came crashing down upon his head that he collapsed within the horde.

Atop the Tower of Ishal, its beacon burning bright amidst the glowing rays of dawn, the teeming darkspawn spread out to search for any survivors. Beneath the morning sky, the bodies of the four who had faced the horde alone in order to serve the crown were thrown together in a heap. A piercing cry sounded from high above the tower, and the shadow of a great dragon passed over the creatures gathered there. The darkspawn first appeared perplexed, and then terrified as the dragon spiraled down above the tower, growing closer with each second. Scattering in horror, the darkspawn fought their way back into the safety of the tower under the dragon's careful gaze. Delicately, the creature landed atop the tower and carefully examined the heap of bodies there, its neck craned to the side and violet eyes searching diligently. The great serpent cried out in triumph, its scream echoing in the valley below, as it grasped what it had come for. Talons full, the great beast's wings beat heavily, its tremendous body rising slowly as the beacon below was snuffed with the force of the movement of the creature's wings. Casting one last glance over the battlefield, the dragon soared off towards the horizon, its prize grasped gently within its talons.


	20. Chapter 19

_A/N: My apologies for the re-publishing of this chapter. I realized that bringing the hound back into play through a random encounter just didn't make sense and didn't flow with the story, so he's back in the Wilds, instead._

**Chapter XIX**

"Ah. So, her eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."

The dim light of a warm fire was the first thing that registered to Anlessa's senses, and then the smell of cooking meat and root vegetables. She moaned softly, forcing herself to sit up and look around. She was in a small thatched cottage, lying on a simple bed, nude except for the numerous wraps and bandages that had been applied to her wounds. Above her head hung animal skins, dried herbs both domestic and exotic, and a variety of cauldrons. Ground powders in alchemy jars were lined carefully in shelves along the wall. To her left, whining softly in clear worry was her mabari, scarred from battle and looking at her with wide eyes. Standing at the foot of the bed, eyeing her like an alchemist's specimen, was the yellow-eyed apostate that had helped them secure the treaties.

Anlessa's hand reached out reflexively towards her hound, who approached carefully, placing its massive head under her trembling hand. "Where… where am I?"

"Back in the Wilds, of course, where I am bandaging your wounds – you are welcome, by the way. I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten. You have been out for quite some time, now. How does your memory fare, Warden? Do you remember anything of Mother's rescue?"

Anlessa swallowed thickly, trying desperately to remember anything she could. In her mind's eye, there were flashes of recollection: waking to find Duncan and Alistair hovering over her after the Joining, sitting in the dark of night in the mabari pens with her hound, discovering that Ishal had been overrun, battling the giant that stood between them and the signal, and then a flash of blinding pain before all grew dark. She shook her head.

"I don't remember." Looking up at the young woman wearily, she asked, "Your mother rescued me from the tower? But, my hound wasn't with me..."

"Quite so," replied Morrigan. "Mother was able to reach both you and your fellow warden atop the tower and bring you to safety. Your hound showed up at our doorstep mere days later, showing signs of having fought his way through the horde to reach safety." The witch pursed her lips sternly. "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. Those who he abandoned were massacred, including your King – the darkspawn won your battle. Your friend is not taking it well, to say the very least. He is outside by the fire. Mother has asked to see you when you awoke."

The girl puzzled. "Why would your mother want to see me?"

The witch sighed softly, and with a hint of irritation. "I suggest you ask her yourself. She rarely tells me her plans."

The warden's eyes cast downward, noticing her numerous bandages for the first time, and testing her pained limbs. "Were my injuries severe?"

"Yes, they were. You have been unconscious for nearly a week. However, I suspect you will be fine. The darkspawn did nothing to the three of you that Mother could not heal."

"…and my friend, the other warden – how is he?"

"He is fine, physically, but has been veering rather violently between grief and denial since Mother told him the news of the battle. I suppose it would be cruel of me to say that he's being childish."

Anlessa's eyes narrowed as she studied the odd woman before her. "That would be _very_ unkind. Those were his friends."

Morrigan shrugged, as if the word meant nothing to her. "… and you think they would encourage this sort of blubbering? If so, they're not the sort of Grey Wardens that the legends note."

The warden groaned, her muscles aching in recovery, as she forced herself shakily to her feet, her hound leaning steadily against her leg in support. "This is just impossible," she said, mostly to herself. "This cannot be happening."

The apostate cocked an eyebrow at this. "Is denial a requirement for admission into the Grey Wardens, or is this simply a trait the two of you happen to share? I can assure you that what I've told you is the truth. I can provide you with details of the aftermath of battle, but I imagine you would not care to hear them."

Anlessa recalled the great beast at the top of the tower and how it had been feasting on the remains of Loghain's men prior to their arrival to light the beacon, and shuddered. "No," she responded, "I imagine I would not. But why me? Why us? Why did your mother not save the King, or the eldest of the Grey Wardens?"

Morrigan gestured briefly to a chair in the corner where Anlessa's belongings lay in a pile before crossing her arms in thought. "I wonder at that myself. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach. I would have rescued your King – a King would demand a far higher ransom."

The girl winced as she bent over to collect her things, donning them slowly. "Much, much higher, actually."

She could hear the smile in the witch's voice behind her. "What a _sensible_ answer. Mother, however, is seldom sensible."

"How _did_ your mother save us?"

"She turned into a great bird and plucked the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon." Mischief shone in Morrigan's eyes as she added, "If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother yourself. She may even tell you."

As the girl strapped on the last of her battered armor, Morrigan nodded to the door of the cottage. "Now, you must go speak to Mother, then be gone. You have an army of darkspawn to avoid, and it would be best you get an early start."

Anlessa nodded, cringing inside. She wasn't looking forward to anything in her immediate future: speaking with the elder witch; seeing Alistair's grief; escaping the wilds and the bulk of the horde. Her hound nuzzled her hand in reassurance, and she smiled down at him, taking his velvet-soft ear between her fingers and caressing it softly. She straightened up, bowing slightly to the woman before her. "I thank you, Morrigan, for all that you have done to help us."

The witch looked shocked for a moment, unsure of what to say. "You… are welcome, I suppose. Though, Mother did most of the work – I am no healer."

"I will go, then."

Morrigan nodded, replying, "I will stay, and finish our dinner."

Anlessa stepped outside slowly, her body still protesting even the slightest of movements. Her hound trotted ahead, confidently surveying his surroundings. The light of the noonday sun violated her eyes and she squinted, focusing on the two figures before her. Near a bonfire by the side of the swamp waters outside of the hut, an armored figure sat in misery while a smaller yet more imposing figure watched the horizon. She spoke without turning back to Anlessa, or looking down at Alistair.

"See, boy? Here is your fellow Grey Warden, safe and sound. You worry too much."

Alistair turned back to the house to see a weary and battered Anlessa looking back at him. He quickly rose and rushed towards her to embrace her in relief, stopping suddenly as if he was afraid she was merely a mirage that would disappear at a moment's notice. She could see the red and swollen signs of grief rimming his eyes as he looked her over in disbelief.

"You… you're _alive_. When I saw you fall, I thought you were dead for sure."

A ghost of a smile fluttered across Anlessa's face as she nodded to the old woman before them. "I understand I have Morrigan's mother to thank for that."

His voice caught in his throat. "Duncan's dead. The King's dead… this just doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead atop that tower, as well."

The woman's pale eyes turned to the wardens and twinkled briefly with amusement. "Do not speak of me as if I am not present, lad."

Alistair stuttered in response. "I… I didn't mean… but, what do we call you? You've never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will suffice."

The two Wardens caught their breath and glanced at each other in fear as they teach ook a step back. Alistair asked, "_The_ Flemeth? The one of legend? Daveth was right – you _are_ the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

The old woman snorted in annoyance. "…and what of it? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?" She smirked, seeing the two wardens blush appropriately in response.

"Flemeth, why us?" the girl asked. "Why did you save us, and not the King?"

"Well, we cannot have _all_ of the Grey Wardens dying off in one blow, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight… or did that change while I wasn't looking?"

She scowled in response. "It changed when they were all slaughtered!"

Flemeth's eyes narrowed. "If you think small numbers make you helpless, girl, then you have already lost."

Alistair flushed. "But we _were_ fighting the darkspawn! The King had nearly defeated them. Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now that is a good question." The witch sighed softly, "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is merely an army that he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

Alistair's countenance darkened. "The Archdemon. There's no possible way for Loghain to defeat it, no matter how skilled his army – Duncan was adamant that only the Grey Wardens can destroy an Archdemon."

Anlessa stepped closer to the fire, the chill of the Wilds seeping into her bones. She shook her head softly. "Alistair, you're the real Grey Warden here, not me."

His voice quivered in response. "All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone, except for the two of us. I've lost _everyone_." His red-tinged eyes turned back her way in supplication as he whispered, "For the love of the Maker, Anlessa, don't back out on me now."

"So, we take on a suicide mission, instead? You saw that horde, Alistair. How do two people, Grey Wardens or no, stop a _horde_, much less an Archdemon?"

Alistair's voice strengthened. "I... I don't know... but, Duncan was like a father to me. I _won't_ let his death be in vain, but I cannot do this on my own."

How was it even possible for her world to go so wrong in such a short period of time? Her family and lands were gone, her King was gone, and now possibly her country – all taken by betrayal and treachery. The girl sighed. "Fine. We should contact the rest of the Grey Wardens, then. There was talk in the camp about an Orlesian contingent heading in to help stop the Blight. Certainly we can wait for the soldiers and wardens to arrive and plan our next move."

He shook his head in response. "Cailan had already sent summons for them, but I imagine that Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. His hatred for Orlais is well known. With his daughter now sole ruler of Ferelden and he in control of the military, we have to assume that they will not arrive in time – if they arrive at all."

Anlessa shook her head, looking to Flemeth and Alistair in confusion. "What could Loghain possibly have to gain by betraying the King?"

The other warden shrugged. "The throne? He is Queen Anora's father, after all. Still… I can't see how he would be able to get away with murder."

The witch snorted in amusement. "You speak as if he'd be the first King to gain power in that way. Grow up, boy."

He glared at the old woman in response, "The Landsmeet would _never_ stand for it. If Arl Eamon knew, _he_ would not stand for it! There would be civil war!"

"Arl Eamon…" Anlessa looked up at Alistair with wide eyes, "Didn't Duncan say that the forces from Redcliffe were gathering to arrive in a week's time?"

"You're right!" Alistair exclaimed. "The Redcliffe contingent never arrived at Ostagar, so Arl Eamon still has all of his forces. I know him – he's a good man, and he's Cailan's uncle. We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

She nodded. "I've seen Eamon's forces before – they're sizeable, but they're not going to be enough to stop that horde. Are there other allies that we can seek out?"

Alistair looked into the fire in thought as Flemeth stood nearby, quietly watching the two young wardens with the hint of a smile on her face. Alistair darted off to his pack nearby, rummaging through it before crying, "Aha!" and coming up with a handful of small scrolls. He grinned eagerly at Anlessa, and she imaged it was the first time he'd smiled since they left the camp before battle. "The treaties! These scrolls allow Grey Wardens to demand the assistance from mages, dwarves and elves. They're obligated to help us in the time of a blight!"

Flemeth smirked, crossing her arms in satisfaction. "I may be old, but mages, dwarves, elves, this _Arl Eamon_ and who knows what else… this sounds like an army to me."

The two wardens looked at each other, hope fluttering like a small flame in their hearts. "So, can we do this?" he asked, "Can we go to Redcliffe and these other places and build an army to fight the Archdemon?"

Anlessa looked to Flemeth and then back to her fellow warden, and then smiled. "We can certainly try."

The old witch nodded in approval, assessing the two youths before her. "So, you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens, after all?"

"Yes, I suppose we are," Anlessa responded. "Thank you for everything, Flemeth."

"No, no," she replied, "It is I who should be thanking you – you are the Grey Wardens, here – not I."

The three turned back to the house, where Morrigan emerged with a large wooden ladle in her hand. The smell of stew wafted out of the warm hut, causing Anlessa's stomach to growl loudly. Flemeth continued, "… but there is one last thing I can give you before you leave." The younger warden found herself immediately hoping that one last thing was going to be dinner.

Morrigan turned to her mother after nodding in greeting to the wardens before her. "The stew is ready, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for dinner this eve…" she looked to the two wardens again with a small smile on her face, "… or none?"

"The Wardens will be taking their leave shortly, girl."

In mock disappointment, the younger apostate sighed, "Such a shame…"

"…and you will be joining them."

Morrigan startled, looking at her mother in horror. "Wait, _what?_"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears."

Seeing the look of shock on the woman's face, Anlessa quickly interjected, "Thank you, Flemeth – but if Morrigan doesn't wish to go with us…"

Flemeth dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Her magic will be useful, and she will be able to guide you out of the Wilds and away from the horde."

The young witch sputtered in protest. "Have _I_ no say in this, Mother?"

The woman's cold violet eyes rested upon her daughter gently but firmly. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, girl. Now is your opportunity." She smiled darkly at the two youths before her, adding, "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

Morrigan remained petulant, stepping closer to her mother, her anger rising. "But Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I am not ready. I have had no time to prepare."

The young woman was stopped short of her approach with an ice-cold glare shooting from Flemeth's violet eyes. Morrigan swallowed nervously, her back stiffening in response. Flemeth's gaze softened and she smiled. "You must be ready. Alone, these wardens must do the impossible, girl – they must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. Without you, they will surely fail and all will perish under the blight – even I."

The fire in Flemeth's eyes had not died, despite the gentle smile she gave her young daughter, and Morrigan knew there would be no arguing this point. She sighed heavily. "Very well, Mother. Allow me to collect my things, if you please."

Flemeth focused her stare on Anlessa, and the young warden felt a dizzying pull as she had experienced before. "...and you, Wardens – do you understand? I give to you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

Anlessa's back straightened as she nodded in response. "I understand, Flemeth. She will come to no harm with us."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably as Morrigan walked back into the cottage. He looked at Anlessa, clearly disturbed by this turn of events. "Are you certain about this? I mean, outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Anlessa considered this quandary, and also the fact that the two of them were entering into this mission alone. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "We need all of the help we can get, Alistair, no matter where it may come from."

"Besides, boy," Flemeth added, "If you didn't want help from us illegal mages, perhaps I should have left you atop that tower."

Alistair sighed, his shoulders slumping heavily. "Point taken."

It wasn't long before Morrigan emerged once again from the cottage, an intricately carved staff over her shoulder with a cauldron swinging lazily from the end. In her hands, she carried three small bags, and tossed two of them at the wardens' feet with obvious displeasure. The mabari scuttled forward, nosing the packs eagerly to determine their contents. "Provisions from Mother, wardens. I am now at your disposal. I suggest a village North of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and we will find much you may need there." She scowled at Alistair. "Or, if you prefer, I can merely be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

Alistair brightened at the prospect, but Anlessa stepped forward with a genuine smile. "No, I prefer you speak your mind, Morrigan."

Flemeth laughed as the wardens picked up the packs that she had prepared for them. "You will regret saying that, I promise you."

Morrigan directed her glower towards Flemeth with this. "Dear, _sweet_ Mother. You are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

"Well, I've always said if you want something done, do it yourself... or hear about it for a decade or two afterward."

Alistair made a face, looking to Anlessa once more. "I just... do you _really_ want to bring her along just because her _mother_ says so?"

Anlessa glared at him briefly, lowering her voice and stepping closer to him. "Is this you asking, or is it the Chantry, Alistair?"

Morrigan's amber-eyed gaze settled on Alistair with no sign of amusement. "If you worry that I will summon demons and transform into an abomination, I assure you I will at least wait until you are not looking."

He sighed. "I feel better already."

The younger warden cleared her throat and, with an air of diplomacy, noted, "We should likely get moving while we still have plenty of light to move by."

Morrigan turned to the elder witch and bowed slightly in the woman's direction. "Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire. I should hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Pah!" Flemeth spat, "More likely that you'll return see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the blight."

The younger witch's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with sorrow. "I... all I meant was..."

Flemeth smiled warmly at her daughter, nodding before she could finish. "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear."


	21. Chapter 20

_A/N: My apologies in advance, as updates will be few and far between from here on out, most likely. I have bits and pieces written and while a few parts are finalized, they're scattered across the storyline. Have fun with this!_

**Chapter XX**

"You've been awfully quiet tonight," she said softly, easing herself onto a log they'd placed near the campfire, her back and her limbs screaming in protest after yet another day of exertion. Anlessa looked over at her fellow Warden, who was still sullenly staring into the fire, while using a stray branch to idly dig and trace irregular patterns in the dirt. "Alistair," she murmured quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"

Alistair took a deep breath and closed his eyes, again swallowing down the pain that threatened to re-emerge every time he had a chance to stop and breathe. The three of them had been pressing north for days in a forced march, traveling through the Korcari wilds and past roving groups of darkspawn. They'd avoided most of the creatures, given Morrigan's exceptional knowledge of the wilds and the herbs that would hide their scent. This last push through the wilds had been enough to wear out his companion's trained war hound, which had spent their first two hours in camp passed out in the tall grass near the tree line. Now that they'd had a chance to stop just outside of Lothering and wait for the daylight to return, he had a chance to think of all that had occurred in the past weeks, and the pain stabbed him like a knife to the heart. It took all of his discipline to keep from breaking down into sobs in front of Ferelden's only other surviving Grey Warden, but he managed to succeed. Bawling like a baby in front of the old wilds witch was humiliating enough, but with only six months of experience under his belt, he was now the Senior Warden in Ferelden and would not show this weakness to their newest recruit.

Raising his wet eyes from the fire, he looked over to her and caught her gaze. His only surviving companion had been brought into the order and saved from the slaughter that he'd learned had been exacted on the rest of her family. She was saved only through the good grace of Duncan, who had recruited her and escorted her to safety while her home and family fell. She was taken directly to the fight at Ostagar, and willingly faced the Joining despite seeing her two fellow recruits fall before her eyes. Within a day of earning the title of Warden, she was thrown into the fray, fighting at his side and slaughtering darkspawn right and left. The two of them had been lucky enough to catch the witch's attention the previous day, and as a result had been the only two Grey Wardens to survive the darkspawn onslaught… and the treachery of the King's general, Teyrn Loghain.

The old witch, Flemeth, claimed that the two of them were "only mostly dead" when she'd found them atop the tower overlooking the battlefield. Her daughter, Morrigan, had told him when he had recovered that Flemeth had returned with them on her back, lumbering towards the hut as a Great Bear. Flemeth was unwilling to corroborate that story, but instead seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction instead in telling him about the gory details of the battlefield below the tower, providing an in-depth analysis of the number of screaming survivors who were drug beneath the Earth, leaving their missing limbs behind, and the variety of darkspawn who were fighting over which of them would enjoy a taste of the dead King's liver. He hated her then, and sobbed as she wryly described the corpse of the eldest of the Grey Wardens, rendered limb from limb by Hurlocks and Ogres, his bearded face disappearing between great fanged jaws.

Maker… Duncan had deserved so much better than this.

Alistair dropped her intense gaze and stared at the ground before the fire, trying to push back the memories and form a coherent response. "I… I'm sorry. It's been a rough day, and I'm sure you don't want to hear me whining. You've been through enough yourself, of late."

Anlessa smiled softly and her gaze shifted to the line of trees at the edge of camp, where Morrigan was busy preparing the evening's meal. In her mind's eye, she was fondly watching her old Nan nipping at the Servant's heels and complaining about Anlessa's dog getting into the larder. During her escape of the Cousland family estate, she had stepped over Nan's beheaded body in the kitchen in order to reach the servant's entrance – and freedom. "It's true," she said, "I think we've both been through a lifetime of heartache in the past two weeks." She looked back to Alistair, who had once again been studying her face, and stated, "But, if we just swallow all of this pain, we'll both just end up poisoning ourselves. I know I'm scared to death. I've seen monsters I've never dreamed existed, treachery I'd never thought possible, and so have you."

He looked down again, concentrating on the tip of his fire stick as it meandered next to the edge of the coals. "That's putting it mildly. Do you think it's possible? Can we really do this?"

"I don't see how we have much of a choice, quite honestly. At the very least, we have to try. I've spent most of our travel time trying to push away what we saw at Ostagar, and what I'd seen at home – instead I try to remember those things that are worth fighting for. I try to remember my father's last words to me – that our family puts its duty above all else. I think that's probably true for you and I as Wardens, as well." Her gaze dropped as her countenance darkened involuntarily, and Alistair felt a shiver crawl up his spine as he heard the steel in her voice. "I keep this in mind to refrain myself from turning to hunt down the snake that killed my family. There will be time enough for vengeance when my duty is done."

Alistair stood and walked over to her, sitting next to her on the log, and spoke low, "What happened to your family? All Duncan told me was that he'd recruited you because your family had been killed. There's more to this, isn't there?"

She chuckled lightly and with a wry grin, said, "Duncan was kind not to advertise my family's business throughout Ostagar. For that, I thank him. He's a good man, and I was fortunate to have him at my side as we fled the castle." The raven-haired Warden then sighed and closed her eyes, "But yes, there's more to this. Arl Howe, as you may know, was to join my father's troops from Highever with his own troops and march to Ostagar for the battle. When he arrived, he claimed his troops had been delayed by the weather, so my brother was sent to take our troops forward to Ostagar instead of waiting to meet up with Howe's men.

"That… _fateful_ evening, I saw my brother for the last time, I supped with his beautiful wife and young son, and we spent the evening with Arl Howe enjoying the fruits of a plentiful harvest season. We discussed one of Howe's sons, and his proclaimed interest in our… joining. My parents lent their full support to the idea." She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in anger, "I even told the treacherous lout that I wished him luck in the coming battle." Hot tears stung her cheeks. "Maker… if I had known…"

She felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked over to see her pain reflected in Alistair's own face as he reached out to lend her support. Wiping her eyes, she continued, "My hound woke me that night, long after dark, and I heard distant screams in the castle and shuffling outside my door. I quickly dressed and grabbed my blade, then opened my door to see two of Arl Howe's men – the men who were supposed to support the King at Ostagar and had been 'held up by the weather' – in an attempt to catch my family by surprise. We made surprisingly quick work of them, as well as the two men who were trying to break down the door to my parents' bedroom. When mother emerged in her decades-old battle armor, I knew the night could not end well.

"Together, mother and I scoured the castle for survivors, and found few – my brother's wife and my nephew had been slaughtered in their bedclothes, her body cradling his in protection. My father we found in the larder, bleeding from a mortal wound. Duncan had helped him fight to the servant's entrance, but could not save his life. I… I was the only living warrior left in the castle young enough to be of use to the Wardens, so I was essentially conscripted on the spot. Duncan took me to safety while my mother knelt, cradling my father's head tenderly. As we left, I heard the gates to the castle fail, and my parents' dying pronouncement of love for each other."

Closing her eyes and pressing her hand tightly against her lips to stifle a sob, she struggled to take deep, calming breaths. "Anlessa… I'm so sorry," she heard him say, "I can't even imagine what you're feeling."

She smiled and shook her head quickly, "It's funny… I came over here hoping to ease your mind and instead I end up giving you my own horror story. I promise it wasn't my intention."

Alistair grinned eagerly, "Of course it was. You're attempting to gain favor with me by one-upping my own sordid past. I'm far too sly for that, however. If you want my favor, I demand bribes and tribute. I have my standards, you know." As she laughed, he pressed on, "Look, I'm going to let you in on a little secret about the Grey Wardens. We go down in history as heroes of the age, saviors of the world, and I'll admit the amount of sacrifice we put forth is exceptional – but many of us, perhaps even most of us, has become a Grey Warden because we're outcasts. The order gives us a fresh start, of sorts.

"Take me, for example – I grew up a bastard (the fatherless kind, before you get any ideas), and my mother died when I was born. I was orphaned and without a family to call my own. Arl Eamon, who watches over Redcliffe, took pity on me and gave me a home and a shelter when no one else would. While it's true that once he married to an Orlesian noble I often found myself sleeping with the hounds, I at least had regular meals and a kind of father figure." He paused, looking back to the fire thoughtfully. "Eventually, however, his new wife grew tired and perhaps even jealous of my presence and I found myself shipped off to the Chantry to train as a Templar." Alistair scowled, "I didn't want to leave. I was miserable at the Chantry, with all of their stupid rules and restrictive religious nonsense. I resented Arl Eamon for letting Lady Isolde force me out of the keep. I refused to speak to him when he visited me, and eventually… he stopped trying."

Alistair sighed heavily and shook his head, "I was a right little brat, and that made my years training as a Templar even worse. I found some solace in our mental and physical training, but in the end I was miserable, but I had no way out. The poorer trainees resented me for being hand-raised by an Arl, and the richer trainees mocked me for being a bastard. When Duncan evoked Conscription to take me into the order, he saved me from all of that. I had no family, no friends, and no…"

"…Class? …Manners? …Tact? …Ability to function as an intelligent human being?"

Alistair and Anlessa jumped and turned around. Morrigan stood over them, wooden ladle in hand, observing them both with cold disinterest. "Our stew is ready, if the two of you are quite through throwing yourselves upon your swords in grief. Oh, and lest I forget," she added, throwing a half-eaten hare at Anlessa's feet, "…your filthy mongrel left _this_ horrid thing in my unmentionables. If he does it again, I will turn him into our next meal."

A low fearful whine from Anlessa's Mabari carried over from the other side of camp, where he had been busy digging a variety of holes.

"Morrigan, certainly that can't be any worse than what you typically put in them," Alistair quipped readily. He was met with a deadly stare and raised eyebrow, and he wilted appropriately.

"Little boy from the Chantry, you _are_ aware that I bend magic to my will, yes?"

Alistair squirmed uncomfortably under Morrigan's gaze. "Yes…"

"Were you aware that a Witch of the Wilds, especially one gifted in shape shifting, has the ability to change her _target's_ gender, not just her own form?"

"What? No! I didn't…"

"So perhaps before you consider speaking of my unmentionables again, you should consider how you'd like to be wearing them yourself, for the rest of your unnatural life?"

"I… well… yes. I think that's something to keep in mind, thank you. I'll… be over here, having dinner, then."

Morrigan watched in wry satisfaction as Alistair scampered off to the stew pot, across the campsite. In a low voice, Anlessa looked up at Morrigan and said, "I thought you'd told me shape shifters cannot manipulate their bodies into other human forms, much less anyone else's."

"Mmm. Indeed, I did. He, however, does not appear to know that, does he?"

Anlessa grinned. "Nicely played, Morrigan."

"You have my thanks, Warden."


End file.
